


Crucify Me Tender

by stirlingphoenix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Play, Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Angels, Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Demons, Drama, Edgeplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fallen Angels, Hair-pulling, Kinky, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Romance, Scratching, Vibrators, Voltron Kink Bang 2018, Voyeurism, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stirlingphoenix/pseuds/stirlingphoenix
Summary: Through what starts out as mere curiosity, Shiro quickly finds himself as free will’s latest fatality and is subsequently banished to Earth. Broken, defeated, and filled with an unwavering sense of remorse, the now Fallen Angel Shiro is hellbent on serving his penance through the most deranged means possible. Desperation for a suitable punishment leads him into the lair of the fugitive Prince of Hell, the hybrid Angel, Lotor. Certain that his encounter with Lotor is not mere coincidence, Shiro all but demands for punishment at Lotor’s hands. He soon learns however, Lotor has no interest in making him suffer and torments him in a way that leaves Shiro more confused than ever before, yet at the same time, it makes him feel alive. It’s not what Shiro expects, nor is it what he set out to do, but nonetheless, he inevitably rediscovers his own personal salvation under Lotor’s supreme care.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Voltron Kink Bang on tumblr!
> 
> Arkilian Dragon and smallkazoo have both done some outstanding artwork for this fic. Arkillian's pieces can be found [here](https://tmblr.co/Zs5ySf2YZ-jZE) and [here](https://tmblr.co/Zs5ySf2YZ-0FY). smallkazoo's piece can be found [here](https://smallkazoo.tumblr.com/post/174545038307/my-piece-for-the-voltron-kinkbang-based-on-the).
> 
> A super huge thanks the mods who put this event together, and my beta, ExtinctionOfReality . <3

Shiro supposes he’s always been kind of curious about what the free fall between Heaven and Earth might feel like, simply because before this point, he'd thought such a thing would never happen. Not that he thinks falling from grace would be impossible (he’s hardly the first) but rather, that he ends up being one of the few to make that fall.

This isn't like him.

The Archangel Shiro serves as the right hand of God. He is loyal, follows orders without hesitation and complete diligence, much like a lamb being led by its shepherd. 

Or at least he was.

Shiro’s still not sure how it got so out of hand.

It all started with a question, a mere inquiry that never received a satisfactory answer, which only led to more questions and even fewer solutions. For the first time in his entire existence, Shiro was curious, he was hungry for knowledge and overcome with the supreme desire to uncover the universe's most well-guarded secrets, answers that only the Creator of Existence itself possessed.

In the end, Shiro could have saved himself. He could have denied every epiphany and realization he’d come to and returned to his place within the fold. Shiro could have repented his sins and begged for forgiveness—he’d been given countless chances to do so. But he didn't.

If nothing else, Shiro is honest to a fault, and he can't deny who he is. Perhaps in another life, or if he was anyone else, such a trait would have been found admirable, perhaps even rewarded. However, this is his reality. He can’t change that, nor does he want to, regardless of the consequences that befall him.

Even as he continues in free-fall, a strange sense of serenity washes over him. Under normal circumstances, Shiro would be bogged down with the countless obligations that accompanied his title, he used to have so many things to care for, but perhaps his exile is meant to be some sort of blessing in disguise. That notion, as lovely as it is, vanishes the second Shiro’s body crashes into the hard, unforgiving terrain of Earth. It's difficult to entertain the idea anything good can come of this, and it seems impossible when every cell of his entire being suddenly feels like it's on fire.

The first thing Shiro notices after landing is that his body can now feel pain—every fiber of his being feels as if it’s being burned to ash. Shiro’s convinced he’s burning alive on the inside, insatiable flames angrily lick his abused bone and muscle, becoming hungrier and more ravenous with each passing second. The outside air is a sharp contrast to the anguish of fire destroying him within, yet the frigid air does nothing to sooth his searing flesh.

When he finally gains enough strength to move, Shiro tries to pull himself up, but his limbs give out on him. He manages to flip himself over and onto his stomach, so at least he’s not putting any unnecessary pressure on his back. For the next few moments, he weighs the pros and cons of simply giving up and lying there for the rest of forever. At first it seems like a pretty good idea—if he doesn't move a muscle the pain will surely ebb away with time, and even if he’s only left with a numbing sense of paralysis for as long as he’s meant to survive here, it’s far better than living through the raw agony that seers every cell in his body.

But as ideal as letting himself waste away to nothingness seems, Shiro knows he can’t. Staying here would not only lend himself to being caught by any lost soul who might wander by, but far more importantly (at least in his eyes) remaining like this would essentially be a means of evading any punishment awaiting him here. Shiro has no doubt that the fall, and the subsequent anguish he’s endured as a result, is only the first in a series of horrific abuse—all of which he unquestionably deserves. Shiro may have lost his faith, but he’s more than willing to accept the consequences that come with his choices. In a rather deranged sort of way, one might even say he’s looking forward to it.

When he finally decides to fight against every agonizing nerve ending in his body that begs him to stay put and peel himself off the ground, Shiro realizes he is not alone. Up ahead, about twenty feet away, stands another being. It's so dark Shiro can just barely make out what he's seeing, but from what he can tell, the figure possesses a humanoid shape; he’s not sure yet, but they appear to be taller than him as well. As if the other being knows exactly what he’s thinking, they start to advance on him, quickly closing the distance between them and destroying what little protection Shiro’s naked form had from the darkness in the process.

A primitive emotion, one he’s never felt before, yet instantly recognizes as fear shoots up his spine as his companion approaches. Even as the figure gets closer, the darkness afforded to them by the new moon makes it difficult for Shiro to make out any physical attributes of the other, and while he realizes that same darkness keeps him from being completely exposed as well, Shiro finds no comfort in it, simply because he knows the cloak is temporary. When the other is about five feet away, a voice calls out to him, one Shiro distinctly recognizes as male.

“You look like you could use some help.” Through the darkness, Shiro can see the stranger’s lips turn upwards in what he’s certain is meant to be a warm, or at the very least, a cordial smile. Still, Shiro feels intimidated rather than relieved at the prospect of getting any sort of assistance.

“Me?” Shiro knows that they’re the only two around for miles, but he can’t help but look off to the side, thinking the person this man wants to speak to will magically sneak up on him. When he looks back to the newcomer, he’s met with an intense gaze, one he’s more than a little unnerved by. “No, I'm all right, no need to be concerned,” he finally answers, as if that’s the most logical thing he could say at this very moment.

The other man doesn't respond at first. Instead, his eyes simply wander down to Shiro's feet before coming back up to meet his gaze at an excruciatingly slow pace, making it abundantly clear that even without light, he can see every detail of Shiro's bare body. Not only is this man aware he doesn’t have a single shred of cloth to his name, but far more importantly, he can see the true extent of his injuries, which ultimately means he knows Shiro’s lying.

Whether or not the newcomer cares though, is a different story. His expression, while vivid and full of life, carries far too many emotions for Shiro to understand. An indescribable mixture of thoughts flash through his bright eyes, yet Shiro can’t identify a single one.

“Um.” Shiro’s arms move to fold over his chest, which he knows doesn't cover anything, but somehow this simple action makes him feel more protected than covering more important areas would. “Maybe not,” Shiro concedes. “You wouldn't happen to have any extra clothes on hand, would you?” Two full seconds of silence pass between them before he quickly adds: “I promise to return them as soon as possible.”

The other man remains silent, but this time he shifts a bit, and only then does Shiro realize that he’s not empty-handed. Tucked under his right arm, he holds a small bundle—Shiro has no idea what it is, but he doesn't have to wait to find out. Extending his arm out with the package in hand, the man lets it unfold into what Shiro thinks is a cloak or covering of some sort. Before Shiro can think to ask, the stranger approaches him, quickly stealing away space left between them.

“This will do for now.” His voice, while hardly above a whisper, is laced with the faintest hint of tenderness, which is more than Shiro’s heard directed towards him in a long time. The gentle tone distracts Shiro long enough to allow the other man to come within inches of his person, but just before he's close enough to touch, he steps behind Shiro and drapes the cloak around his shoulders.

“No, I can't take—” Shiro tries to shrug off the cloak he's been given, but the man's hands remain firmly on his shoulders, keeping it in place.

“Relax,” his voice is calm and soothing, so much so that Shiro is powerless to do anything but comply. “You're not taking, I'm giving,” he adds before Shiro can protest further. Despite the warmth radiating from his body, Shiro still feels frozen under the man’s touch and allows him to further wrap the cloak around his body until he’s fully covered. His hands stay clasped to Shiro’s shoulder blades for a moment longer, lingering with secret intention before sliding down his upper arms at a painstakingly slow pace, eventually falling away from his being altogether.

Even with the weight lifted from his shoulders, Shiro finds himself lamenting the loss, however, his focus is soon redirected back to his company, who has moved away from him and stepped forward into his line of sight within the blink of an eye.

“I can give you something proper if you come back with me.” He makes the offer sound like a mere suggestion, one that gives Shiro a choice, but it’s clear his decision has been made for him when the stranger holds out his hand. This time, Shiro can identify the expectant look in the man’s eyes, one that’s determined to take charge of the situation.

At first, Shiro wants to refuse. He tries to think of an excuse or something he can say that'll make the other leave him where he stands, out here in the cold, merciless desert, which will inevitably turn into a scorching wasteland once the sun comes up. Despite what he knows and how he’s taken care of himself up until this point, Shiro wants nothing more than to give in and follow.

“Lending, not giving,” Shiro quickly corrects, refusing to take his hand but nevertheless goes after the man for several meters until the darkness gives way to a vehicle, which he can only assume is how his companion made his way out here.

“I'm glad we could reach a compromise.” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, but Shiro decides not to question it. Instead, he allows himself to be led to the vehicle, where the other man is quick to help him inside.

It’s not as if Shiro is completely clueless about such things, he’s watched over humanity enough to know what a car is and what to do in this exact situation, but until now, he’s never actually done any of these ‘normal’ human activities for himself, and by now, he’s well beyond the point of trying to act natural. The man (who seems intent on rescuing him) has already seen more than enough to know something’s amiss. He hasn’t said anything, but he doesn’t have to, not when he has that knowing look in his eyes, one that says he’s clearly biding his time and waiting for an opportune moment.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, not knowing if his words are even appropriate, but he figures saying the wrong thing is better than letting silence fall between them. Instead of conceding to the unnerving sense of calmness that settles once it's clear he won't be receiving a response, he realizes his acquaintance has yet to give him a name or let him know what to call him in any sense. He opens his mouth to ask, but then immediately closes it, getting the idea that perhaps the other might be uncomfortable giving his name to a total stranger. It seems odd, considering how forward his stranger's been up until now, but even so, Shiro still has his manners, if nothing else.

“My name is Shiro.” His voice sounds awkward and uncertain, making it all too apparent that he has no idea what's going on, or why he's following him so easily, but after a few seconds he decides 'why not?’. After all, he has nowhere else to go.

Looking back at him, the stranger offers him a bemused look, as if he hadn't expected to have much of a conversation with him.

“Lotor,” he finally replies, looking right at Shiro with an intense gaze that pierces through his broken soul, rendering him so weak in the knees that he feels like he could fall over. He probably would have, if it hadn't been for Lotor wrapping his arms around him and keeping him upright as he helps Shiro into his vehicle before he finds another way to try and hurt himself.

 _Lotor._ The name sounds familiar, although Shiro’s not sure why. Under different circumstances, he’d probably be able to figure out where he knows that name, but as he is, his frazzled mind decides to focus on the far more pressing matter—where Lotor plans to take him. Shiro wants to ask, but Lotor is so confident in the way he leads him, as if he knows Shiro’s going to follow him, regardless of the answer he’d provide if Shiro ever got the nerve to speak up.

“For safety.” A certain spark Shiro can only describe as amusement flickers through Lotor eyes as he reaches across his chest, getting far too close for comfort while his hand travels over to Shiro’s shoulder, just barely grazing it before taking ahold of something right next to him. Nothing in Lotor’s expression changes as he pulls his hand back, dragging a synthetic fabric that Shiro recognizes as a seatbelt over his chest, taking it down to his hip, but never quite touching. Lotor maintains eye contact with him during his excruciatingly slow movements, as if he’s intentionally dragging this process reason—until he hears a soft ‘click’. Before he can really think about what’s happening, Lotor retracts his hand from his person while the belt remains in place, just like Shiro knows it’s supposed to.

Shiro gives a quick nod, but otherwise remains silent, as he's certain anything he says will make it even more apparent that he doesn't belong here.

Lotor's gaze turns pensive as he stares at him for a few seconds longer. Even with the soft glow of the car light, it’s far too dark for Shiro to really see or make out any distinctive features, but for now, he chooses not to focus on Lotor, but instead on the road ahead (or at least Shiro assumes that’s where they’re headed). Whether Lotor finds the answer he's looking for, Shiro doesn't know. Regardless, Lotor pulls away from him completely after a few moments, shutting the door behind him and closing Shiro in before crossing over to the driver's side of the car and joining him. Wordlessly, Lotor starts the ignition and takes off, leaving Shiro with no other option than to sit there and take in his surroundings. 

While Shiro understands time as he knows it has no meaning on Earth, he takes notice of a set of numbers that glow on the dashboard, and after staring long enough to see the last number change, and then again after a bit longer. Sometimes the last two numbers change at the same time, but it’s consistent. Before long, he’s able to tell exactly when the number will change, allowing him to set a steady rhythm that calms him during their trip. The numbers change exactly twelve times before the desert scenery begins to melt away into the outskirts of a city, and another ten times before they happen upon a more secluded property, hidden behind a gate of iron covered in ivy. With a press of a button, Lotor keeps on the visor above his head, the metal fence opens, allowing them to pass and continue along the trail Lotor's clearly taken more than once or twice. 

“We’re here,” Lotor says as he parks the car, breaking the deafening silence that surrounded them during the car ride. With another unreadable glance thrown in his direction, Lotor gets out of the car, only to appear at the passenger’s side a few seconds later.

“I can—” This time Shiro’s legs really do give out from under him, right before he can finish insisting that he can handle himself.

“It’s okay.” Shiro finds Lotor's tone so soothing that he’s powerless to stop Lotor from going beyond what he’s certain is the normal range of hospitality and giving the extensive assistance he’s still reluctant to accept. “I’ve got you.”

With the city lights so far away, Shiro can hardly see Lotor’s outline right in front of him, but he can feel how close Lotor is, holding out his hand for him to take like it’s the most natural gesture in the world. Again, he’s taken with the urge to insist he doesn’t need Lotor’s aid, that he’s already done more than enough and that he’s more than capable of following Lotor inside, but he knows when it’s time to surrender and let Lotor take charge while he’s still trying to gain his bearings around here. He's already fallen on his face more than once, and he’s less than eager to try again.

In spite of his personal acknowledgments of the situation he's put in, it’s a certain flare that dances like wildfire in Lotor’s expressive eyes that dissolves the last shred of resistance he’s clung to until now and allows him to follow the metaphorical siren call into Lotor’s arms. He has the sudden urge to apologize for his current weakness and thank Lotor for his undeserved kindness, but Shiro can’t force a single word to leave his lips as he reaches out to take hold of Lotor’s hand. He quickly realizes Lotor is even closer than he thought when his hand meets Lotor’s forearm, but Lotor doesn’t give him the chance to rectify his small mistake before his grasp tightens around Shiro’s forearm in turn, and carefully pulls him up to stand.

Shiro isn’t on his feet for a second before Lotor is once again shamelessly invading his personal space and wrapping a supportive arm around his waist. Shiro no longer has it in him to give even the feeblest of protests as Lotor kicks the car door shut and leads them away without any explanation.

Lotor continues to guide him through the darkness with a practiced ease that validates his earlier suspicion about where Lotor might be taking him. If he was anyone else, he would think Lotor a fool for blindly letting someone who’s little more than a total stranger (a rather odd one, he admits) into his own personal sanctuary. Shiro’s never been they overly suspicious type, but with this instance being the one major outlier in his record, he’s precautious to a fault.

Perhaps he’s the fool. It’s a sneaking suspicion he’s had since Lotor appeared that won’t go away, and only grows more and more prevalent with each step he takes, yet he remains calm. He’s come this far of his own volition, and the perilous combination of curiosity and the lack of a better option keeps him moving forward.

He’s been following Lotor blindly in the literal sense this entire time, yet he doesn’t realize how much he misses the light until a warm, yet synthetic light overwhelms his vision, almost hurting his eyes in the process as the entire room he now stands in is illuminated. After a few blinks, Shiro’s eyes adjust to the light source, enabling him to finally get a good look at his surroundings. He doesn’t get very far before the sweet, mellifluous sound of Lotor's voice cuts through the air and goes straight through his soul.

“Wait here.” Lotor gives his hand a small squeeze (until that second, he'd somehow managed to forget just how close Lotor is) before he lets go and pulls away entirely.

With proper lighting available to him, Shiro hopes to catch a glimpse of his savior, only to see a flash of white hair vanishing out of sight. The notion to follow Lotor quickly dissipates back into nothingness as his eyes begin to wander about the large room, taking note of the lavish decor covering nearly every surface. Granted, he hasn’t spent any time examining the various trinkets and knick-knacks humans tend to possess, however, the novelties that adorn Lotor’s walls and shelves are far more familiar to his eyes than they should be.

It takes a bit of mental preparation, but Shiro eventually manages to pull himself up and stand on his own two feet without using an armrest or a table for support as he makes his way further into Lotor’s study. It doesn’t take long for him to inspect the abnormal furnishings his mysterious host chooses to decorate his home with and confirm his prior suspicions, but the results are more than enough to make his heart stop.

Shiro’s right. While he hasn’t seen objects like these up close and personal before, he’s had more than his fair share of dealing with the race who has, and the fact that a good number are embellished with a dark insignia and tailor-made for a member of royalty only proves that Lotor is not the charitable human being he’s led him to believe, but that he’s in far more danger than he first initially realized. While physiologically impossible (even for him) it still feels like his heart has become a solid, unmoving mass within his chest that serves no other purpose than to weigh him down and keep him tethered to this very spot. Without his body’s most vital organ pumping oxygen-rich blood to the rest of his body, Shiro suddenly feels light-headed and on the verge of suffocating. He can’t be sure if he’s even breathing anymore, his lungs feel like they're collecting air that no longer has anywhere to go.

As if he can sense the peril Shiro finds himself in, Lotor reemerges into the room, making his presence known when he steps into Shiro's line of vision. He carries a small cup and saucer set; Shiro hardly registers steam floating up and curling around itself from the top as Lotor steps closer, holding the cup out to him. 

"For your nerves," Lotor explains. Against his better judgment, Shiro finds himself reaching out with shaky hands to accept Lotor's offer. As he takes in Lotor's less than human appearance, the glass cup and saucer clink together in his unsteady hold, which he hardly manages to keep for two seconds before his trembling hands cause him to lose his grip, resulting in dishes crashing to the floor with a loud clash that resonates throughout the room. 

“Not to your liking, is it?” Lotor blinks, but otherwise looks completely unfazed by the broken glass. The grin that seems like it’s permanently plastered on his face remains intact, as if he’s more entertained by Shiro’s startlement than anything else. “Or do you finally recognize me?”

In any other case, Shiro might have been appalled by Lotor's presumptuous attitude, however, his arrogance is exactly what his mind needs to finish the puzzle. He knows exactly who Lotor is, and why his name sounded so familiar before. Now that he has the full picture in explicit detail right before his eyes, the predicament he finds himself in is painfully obvious. The soft, almost iridescent lilac skin that glistens in the warm lamplight, the snow-white hair that falls over perfectly sculpted shoulders with each turn of his head, those intense blue eyes that burn through any facade and expose the raw truth with a mere glance, coupled with yellow sclera that no healthy human could possess—each feature is a rare finding by any account, but combined? Only the direct result of the unholy union between a powerful demoness and the Almighty Creator himself fits such a vivid, otherworldly description.

“Who are you exactly?” Shiro asks, clinging to the one small glimmer of hope that maybe he’s wrong, that maybe Lotor’s not whom he thinks he is.

“There's no need to be alarmed,” Lotor replies airily. A certain spark in his eyes unnerves Shiro unlike anything else, making him shiver where he stands. “You're with a friend now.” Lotor doesn’t give him a direct answer, but Shiro doesn’t need one. He’s said more than enough already, to the point where Shiro knows Lotor’s toying with him.

And yet even now, Lotor uses the same, soft voice that makes it seem like he's only there to comfort him, but it's too late. The realization of it all finally dawns on him, sending shivers down his spine as he takes a step backward in spite of himself.

“You are not a friend,” Shiro nearly growls in response as an unwarranted sense of betrayal tugs at his heartstrings.

“I’m the only friend you have.” The overconfidence in Lotor's tone makes his skin crawl.

“No.” Shiro detests how weak his voice sounds, like he's not trying to deny or fight Lotor's claim, but instead begging that he be spared hearing the truth out loud. Even if there's some validity in that sentiment, Lotor either misses his plea or ignores it.

“Really?” The devilish smile playing upon Lotor’s lips grows even wider, and it's painfully obvious that he means to taunt him. “You’ve fall—”

“Stop!” Shiro's all but screaming at this point, like merely continuing to raise his voice at Lotor might spare him the sorrow of hearing his reality out loud.

As if he's chosen to heed Shiro's request and give him one single iota of sympathy, not a single word passes through Lotor's lips, but the Prince of Hell doesn't need a voice to get his point across, not when his smile says it all. The slight upward turn of the corners of soft lips in tandem with how those same lips part just enough to reveal sharp fangs form the picture-perfect smirk that mocks him incessantly and makes Shiro know he'll be reliving his downfall for every agonizing second that crawls by during whatever time he has left.

He knows exactly what's to come, yet the fear that's paralyzed him until this very moment vanishes, freeing his limbs while simultaneously leaving a lingering sense of relief in its wake. This is what he's been searching for, a fitting sentence that forces him to make amends for his willful transgressions.

And that’s when Shiro falls to his knees. Lotor's silence is the only answer he needs. This is the punishment he knew he'd have to discover for himself on Earth. All Shiro has to do now is submit.

“Do with me what you will.”

Lotor doesn’t move. He stares at him for the longest time without blinking, again watching him with an expression Shiro struggles to describe. It's then Shiro realizes his inability to read Lotor or even guess what he might be thinking is a common occurrence between them, a rather discouraging one at that. He continues to choke on silence as Lotor stares at him for what feels like forever, as if he's taking his sweet time mulling over where to start with him.

“You think me a punishment?” If Shiro didn’t know any better, he’d think that Lotor genuinely had no clue what he’s talking about.

But he knows better. There’s no way his encounter with the legendary Prince of Hell is mere coincidence. The only rational conclusion he can make is that Lotor must be toying with him.

“Why else would I be here?”

Lotor keeps giving him that same look, the look that says he's still trying to process Shiro's predicament, as if he's still not putting two and two together, which is starting to grate on Shiro's last nerve. After everything he's gone through, Shiro can't deal with any sort of mind game, no matter how trivial.

“I have no idea—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Shiro almost startles himself with the volume of his tone, and if he's not mistaken, Lotor flinches. The movement is far too subtle for him to be sure of what he saw, but right now Shiro can't bring himself to care. “Surely you have more creative ways to torture me.”

“I found you in the desert,” Lotor replies. It sounds like he's at a complete loss for how to handle anything Shiro's throwing at him. There's a somber, almost devastated note to his otherwise seraphic voice that Shiro knows he isn't imagining, but it only serves to enrage him further. Lotor plays his part brilliantly, with a striking elegance deserving of only the highest of awards. He's so captivated that all he wants to do is give Lotor the chance that clearly no one else has, but he can't shake the feeling he's playing right into Lotor's hands, and that it will all be over if he even considers Lotor's truth.

“You were waiting for me,” Shiro answers, his voice firm and unwavering. In spite of his initial outrage, the anger is quick to dissipate, leaving him drained and more exhausted than ever before. More than anything, he just wishes Lotor would let the facade go and get on with it already.

“I was,” Lotor admits, “but not because I knew you were coming.” His voice is soft and holds the faintest hint of innocence Shiro so badly wants to believe is real, and not the devious ploy Shiro knows it is. “I could smell you,” he adds before Shiro can ask how else he would have known, which is an answer he can accept, for now at least.

“Do you know you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen someone like me?” Lotor asks, finally breaking the silence between them as he steps towards Shiro, only this time Shiro doesn't stay still. With his eyes trained on Lotor's every movement, he takes a step back and keeps going, trying to widen the distance between them. Momentarily, he thinks this will never end, that he'll always be on the run, constantly evading capture while Lotor remains on the prowl, growing hungrier each time Shiro manages to slip from his treacherous grasp. But that fantasy (as odd as it is) comes to an end the second his back hits the wall, leaving Shiro with nowhere to go as Lotor closes in on him with a predatory look glistening in his beautiful eyes. 

“Or at least partly?” When he gets close enough, Lotor reaches out to him, making Shiro turn away on instinct. As he's pinned to the wall, Shiro’s action does nothing to keep Lotor at bay and is ultimately powerless in stopping him from caressing his cheek. “I’ve never met an angel before.”

Shiro's not sure what he expects from Lotor's touch, but it certainly isn't this. Lotor’s fingertips just barely graze against his warm flesh, but it’s still more than enough to send icy daggers through his skin and leave him even colder than he was in the desert. Shiro tries to remain calm. He wants to put on a brave face and not give Lotor the satisfaction of knowing how he affects him. Despite his wishes, his body seems intent on betraying him at every turn, causing him to shiver uncontrollably while he’s caught between wishing he could sink into the wall and disappear, and the strange, wholly terrifying urge to take the direction that’s still available to him and lean into Lotor’s touch. Lotor’s fingers linger just above his cheek, as if waiting for Shiro to come after them. For once, he gets his way and manages to keep still, rejecting the subtle invitation in favor of focusing on Lotor’s words.

“I’m not,” Shiro says quietly, diverting his gaze away from Lotor entirely. “Not anymore. I’ve fallen.” Somehow, it's far easier to hear when he's the one saying it.

“I’m aware,” Lotor replies automatically, causing Shiro to get over whatever inner anxiety keeping him from looking at Lotor in the first place. Shiro blinks, not knowing what else to say. Of course, he knows, it's how Lotor found him after all—alone and damaged in the cold darkness, and there's no other explanation that would justify finding an angel on Earth under these circumstances. Shiro remains quiet, but he knows Lotor doesn't need him to say anything. Again, Lotor comes closer, reaching out to touch his face, only this time Shiro doesn't even think or try to move away as Lotor's fingers brush against his skin. Instead of the uncontrollable trembling he'd experienced before, this time Lotor's touch is far more pacifying than he ever could have thought possible, especially from someone like him.

“And how exactly would punishment change that?” Lotor sounds at a loss, like he's still struggling to piece Shiro's mindset together for himself. Not that he can blame Lotor for his lack of understanding, not when he can't explain it himself. There's nothing to explain really, it's just something he knows.

“It won’t,” Shiro responds after a brief pause, unable to come up with a better reply.

Lotor studies him for the longest time, as if he's unsure of what to make of Shiro's answer. Considering who Lotor is, he supposes it's unreasonable for him to understand what he's going through, or why he needs this. Nevertheless, Lotor dons a pensive expression, giving Shiro the impression he's at least trying to emphasize with Shiro.

“Come with me.” While not demanding in any sense, Lotor's tone beckons him to follow while his hand reaches out to him. 

Just like before, Shiro doesn’t think twice about taking the proffered hand and letting Lotor lead him away and into a dark hallway. Lotor doesn't bother turning on any lights, clearly having wandered through these same corridors several times before. At first, Shiro tries to keep track of where they're going, counting the paces taken before each turn and trying to commit the directions to memory, but their journey is far longer than he expects, and as Lotor takes him deeper into his home, he realizes he's not getting out of here (if he ever receives an opportunity to leave) without assistance. Having long since lost count of both his steps and the number of new hallways they've traveled down, Shiro's eyes begin to wander in a feeble attempt to catch a glimpse of anything memorable along the walls. But the darkness is unrelenting in its aim to keep him lost and completely dependent upon Lotor’s guidance. At the very least, Shiro's able to tell Lotor's keeping him on the ground floor—if the lack of stairs is a viable indicator, and not some form of trickery his mind, the house, or a calamitous combination of the two might be playing on him.

Shiro tries to keep track of the duration of their small trek, but he inevitably loses his way, forcing him to realize how alone he really is. That's not entirely true, he reminds himself a second later when the grip Lotor has on his hand tightens. The difference is so subtle that if he'd had anything else to focus on he surely wouldn't have noticed, but he does. He doesn't know how to feel about that, nor does he get the opportunity before Lotor comes to an abrupt stop right in front of him. Thankfully, he manages to stop before colliding with him full-on, however his nose still brushes against the soft tendrils of Lotor's hair.

The darkness continues to keep him from seeing anything in their path, but a soft, almost inaudible creaking sound tells him they're about to cross the threshold from the hallway into an unknown room. Shiro no sooner hears the soft click of the door behind him before the room becomes illuminated by the soft glow of a bright fire burning in a fireplace across the room. 

Once again, he’s struck by an odd sense of familiarity, as if he's seen those exact flames before. The thought, while impossible, doesn't deter him from staring into the small pyre, completely taken with the fiery blue embers that angrily lick at the kindling and grow into the blazing cerulean flames that consume, yet remain confined to the same small space. Shiro quickly discovers that the fire isn't enough to brighten the large chamber.

“Please make yourself comfortable. I will only be a moment.” Lotor looks back at him with a soft gaze that's far too deceptive for Shiro's taste.

“What are we doing here?” Shiro asks when Lotor doesn't provide an explanation.

Turning back, Lotor looks at him with intrigue. “Isn’t it obvious?” Lotor’s voice is as airy as it is teasing. “I’m going to have my way with you.”

Now that's something Shiro doesn't see coming, not that he knows what to expect from the Prince of Hell. He stands in the center of the room for what feels like an eternity, trying to process Lotor's desire while the man in question stares him down with a gaze that once again leaves Shiro feeling confused and insecure.

Lotor tilts his head to the side, clearly trying to examine him. Shiro enjoys the notion that he might be as unreadable to Lotor as he is to him when an eyebrow piques in mild confusion, wrinkling an otherwise flawless forehead.

“Are you agreeable to this?” He finally asks after a moment, making Shiro remember he has yet to respond.

Shiro blinks once, then, twice, then once more, trying even harder than usual to decipher Lotor's expression. He wants to take comfort in the choice Lotor gives him, letting himself entertain the notion that it's real and not just another game to Lotor. He knows better, however. He doesn't want to believe it, more than anything he wishes he could let go of every bit of pain and crippling anxiety and go for it.

It’s never that simple though, not when uncertainty plagues him all the way to the core. For once, can he be honest with himself and let the night proceed without any meaningless resistance? Shiro's not sure why he even asks—of course, it's not all right, none of it is. For one brief second, Shiro thinks he has it all figured out—his penance, Lotor, everything.

At first, it really seems that simple.

But this? This is insanity.

“If you think it suits me,” Shiro replies after a while, and he's once again unable to understand where Lotor's going with this.

Lotor doesn’t respond to that. The casual grin he’s worn since they met falters ever so slightly, turning into something that’s almost wistful in nature, not that Shiro understands why.

“Strip,” Lotor orders, a spark of lust Shiro hasn't seen before flickers through his eyes. “I want a good look at you.”

His first request isn't difficult to follow, not when the cloak Lotor gave him earlier is his only protection. He does as Lotor asks without hesitation, shedding the clothing with a simple shrug of his shoulders. The cloth hits the cold floor with a soft thud, revealing his naked body, scars, bruises, and all, to Lotor.

Clearly whatever Lotor had wanted to do a few moments ago doesn’t matter all that much, not when Lotor’s gaze settles upon his form and takes in everything he has to offer. There’s something incredibly gratifying about having someone’s undivided attention on him, even if those fierce cobalt eyes staring him down with a carnivorous glint make Shiro feel like a prized piece of meat thrown to starving lions in a gladiator's arena and the most desirable being in the entire universe all at once. Shiro’s nowhere near close enough to receive even a speck of warmth from the room's only light source, but he doesn't need it; not when Lotor’s glare effortlessly sets his skin ablaze.

After a moment, merely looking doesn't seem to be good enough anymore when Lotor begins to saunter towards him, taking deliberate, graceful strides while maintaining eye contact as he gets closer. Shiro can't help but liken Lotor to one of those majestic creatures he's always been fascinated by— _a feline_ , his mind quickly supplies—as Lotor continues his prowl, only stopping after he's yet again invaded the personal space he's no longer sure he has any right to. This time, Shiro doesn’t so much as flinch when Lotor reaches out to touch him, gently placing the back of his hand against Shiro’s cheek and slowly running it down his face and to his chest in a manner that’s far too tender for a half-demon, yet it’s exactly the sort of gentleness Shiro’s just beginning to accept from Lotor. Shiro knows exactly how dangerous this is, he knows he can’t allow himself to become complacent around Lotor, not when he’s all but certain Lotor will turn on him the second he gets too comfortable.

But it’s hard not to fall for his charade; Lotor hasn’t done anything to make him wary or suspect him of a ruse, other than being who he is. Which isn’t at all fair, if Shiro’s being completely honest with himself. The thought of condemning someone for their mere existence doesn’t sit well with him, and that rule applies to the crowned Prince of Hell. Recalling his history, Shiro realizes the darkness is all he knows. The light of God, his own father, had rejected him the moment he'd been born, cast him into Hell, and forced him to rule once he'd come of age. Simply put, Lotor had never been given the same choice he and every other angel (current and fallen) had been born with.

Shiro can’t shake the foreboding sense of dread that looms over him in Lotor’s presence, but he keeps the knowledge of Lotor’s origin in the back of his mind as he finally lets himself feel a bit more at ease; his shoulders begin to relax as he allows himself to lean into Lotor’s caress and take just a bit of enjoyment from this, since Lotor has been nothing if not insistent about obtaining his consent every step of the way.

“Do I get to see you too?” Shiro asks, wishing he could have the same opportunity as Lotor, only to regret the question. His eyes widen when those words pass through his lips. 'Mortified’ doesn't even begin to explain how Shiro feels when his cheeks begin to turn into what he’s certain is a bright shade of vermilion. As grateful as he is to have enough light to see his surroundings, at least in the darkness Lotor wouldn’t be able to see him like this. Shiro wills himself to keep eyes glued to Lotor’s, and not succumb to the nagging urge to look away and avoid the judgment in Lotor’s eyes. Even now Shiro has difficulty trying to decipher Lotor’s thoughts through the countless emotions that flicker in his blue eyes, but nevertheless, he expects Lotor to mock him for giving into temptation and remind him of how far he’s really fallen.

But he doesn’t. Lotor’s gaze stays transfixed on him as his hand falls away from him completely before taking a step back closer to the fireplace. Shiro continues to watch Lotor with a genuine sense of curiosity rather than precaution, patiently waiting for Lotor to make his next move. He’s never once done anything Shiro expects, and this instance is no different.

“Of course.” If he's not mistaken, the omnipresent grin on Lotor's face only grows upon hearing his request as he brings one hand up to his chest, where his nimble fingers brush against a silver zipper, making Shiro realize Lotor’s worn a coat the entire time, which only makes him want to see what Lotor’s been hiding from him even more.

As if Lotor can sense Shiro’s patience growing thin, he takes his time in opening his coat, playing with the clasp for a few painfully long seconds before showing a hint of mercy by finally taking hold of the zipper and pulling it downward, albeit at a pace that’s still far too leisurely for Shiro’s taste.

Until now, Shiro’s extreme patience had been a point of pride for him, or at least, he’d felt something akin to that, whatever an angel could feel in that regard. While he may have been capable of such a feat in the past, now, he can’t help but groan when Lotor finishes opening his jacket and shrugs out of it, revealing the gray button-up shirt he’s wearing underneath.

The silk shirt Lotor wears hugs his frame, leaving little to the imagination as he runs a teasing hand down his torso over his hip, calling Shiro’s attention to the perfect curve of his slender body. It’s not all that much, but he’s never looked at anyone else like this, nor was he even allowed to. Like a diligent follower, Shiro managed to lock away any thought of forbidden pleasure somewhere deep within the back of his mind, forever denying himself the Earthly temptations humans engage in every day without a second thought.

But Shiro doesn’t have to do that anymore, not when the Lotor seems so keen on having him indulge in his body. Lotor’s actions all but beg him to watch, to want, maybe even touch.

It's only when Lotor begins to unbutton his shirt that Shiro vaguely remembers he’s supposed to be engaged in some form of cruel, yet entirely justified punishment, but he can’t bring himself to steer the situation back in the other direction. If this is some sort of elaborate joke Lotor’s pulling on him, Shiro has yet to see the punchline.  The one detail holding any significance is the way Lotor's nimble fingers continue to undo fine fabric, revealing exquisite, unmarred skin inch by inch at a pace that grows slower and more painful with each passing moment.

“I—” he sucks in a sharp breath when the shirt finally falls away, completely forgetting whatever he'd wanted to say.

Lotor must have taken off his footwear earlier without him noticing because as soon as those expensive pants (along with a pair of undergarments he's certain aren't cheap either) drop, long, slender legs step out and onto the hardwood floor. Just like that, Lotor is completely naked before Shiro, allowing him to take in everything Lotor has to offer completely uncensored and only for him,

“Do you like what you see?” Lotor’s eyes glitter with confidence, as if he can read Shiro's every thought, not that it would surprise him if he could.

“Yes,” Shiro murmurs, forcing himself to keep Lotor's gaze.

Lotor lets out a soft hum as he strides over to Shiro, still staring at him with an intense gaze and making him feel so very small. Again, he reaches out to Shiro, placing his hand squarely on his chest and running it over the skin, lightly dragging sharp nails down his torso along the way.

“Do you wish to continue?” Lotor asks, pulling his hand away just before touching anything substantial.

Again, he's asking Shiro about what he wants, making it seem like he really has a choice. While Shiro tries to wrap his mind around the play, Lotor refrains from physical contact for the time being, but his eyes continue to linger on Shiro’s form, assessing every scar and imperfection that covers his body. Only this time, he gets to do the exact same thing to Lotor, and he's not at all shy about it.

“Well?” The inquiry in Lotor's voice is gentle yet more than enough to break Shiro free of his inner query. He finds it odd that even now Lotor continues to question him, like he has something to prove, or desires Shiro's approval for reasons he can't comprehend.

Or maybe that's all part of Lotor's game, and he just might be falling for it.

“I do,” Shiro replies at last, giving them both exactly what they want.

Lotor's expression grows thoughtful as he continues to watch him. “Get on the bed,” Lotor orders after a bit, but says nothing more.

Shiro's eyes drift over to the only piece of real furniture in the room, and he can’t help but think it looks far too soft for him. Meeting Lotor's gaze once more, he tries to tell him as much, that he doesn't deserve such a luxury, even under pretense. He just knows Lotor is capable of far more depraved and perverse actions, none of which involve an overly plush mattress complete with fluffy pillows and a soft blanket, A small part of him wants to take Lotor's words at face value and wrap himself up in the warm fabric. He refuses to indulge, however and continues in his quest to please Lotor and really get down to business.

“Go on.” The mirth in Lotor's tone doesn't go unnoticed as he points to the bed in question, as if giving Shiro a visual cue in case he's not following him. Shiro’s not sure if he's misunderstanding him, or he simply doesn't care. Either way, Shiro decides he doesn't have much room to question Lotor's methods. With his gaze cast down at the floor, Shiro finally does as he's told and treks over to the bed, climbing into it on his hands and knees. For a second, he ponders whether he should remain like this, but then decides to let himself have this one small luxury and lower himself down on top the comforter, allowing himself to rest for a few seconds.

Shiro’s wrong, at least partially. The bed is far more comfortable than he could’ve ever imagined. For a moment, Shiro forgets about his fall, his pain, his injuries, none of them exist right now, not while he's here, lying prone on the one surface in the entire universe that might be softer than a cloud. He's still very much aware of his situation and that Lotor's only a few feet away, but even so, his muscles go totally lax on the bed, making him feel like he's melting into the mattress and further into the supreme luxury that perfectly molds to every curve of his body. Shiro feels lighter than air, and he's more comfortable than he's ever been in his entire existence, so much so that a drowsy haze begins to settle over him, despite his best efforts to stay awake.

Luckily for him, Shiro feels a dip in the bed just before he nods off, allowing him to stay focused on what’s to come. A sense of serenity continues to pacify him as Lotor comes closer, going as far as to climb over him, but never putting any pressure on him. A hand settles by Shiro’s head, clearly supporting Lotor’s weight as he kneels right beside him. His eyes remain focused on the way the flickering light from the fire makes Lotor’s violet skin glow and awaits Lotor’s next move, which comes in the form of fingertips brushing against the scarred skin on his back, directly over the area where white wings used to protrude from his back. Shiro can still feel his wings burning away in the Earth’s atmosphere, the pressure eating away at his skin, rendering his entire body raw and in an excruciating amount of pain, but never going further than the epidermal layer of his flesh.

Burning alive would have been too good for him, especially when the perfect punishment looms over him, keeping him in wait, like Lotor intends to test his patience as a form of torture all on its own. Shiro knows better, but the thought amuses him nonetheless, that is, until Lotor’s soft voice breaks the silence.

“I don't trust you to tell me if I go too far.” The way Lotor speaks makes it seem like he's asking a question, wanting to know if Shiro's going to tell him if it's ever too much.

Shiro can't help but smile at the thought. He would never have suspected such care from the fabled Prince, and if Lotor hadn't shown him so much kindness already, he might think this is all a sick game to Lotor. If Lotor's being as genuine as Shiro's led to believe, then it's almost sweet that he would care. But he shouldn't. It's not Lotor's place, not when Shiro's very much convinced of his role in his new life on Earth.

“I trust you,” Shiro admits with complete sincerity, propping himself up on his elbows and turning to look deep into Lotor's stunning sapphire eyes. Those beautiful eyes still hold so many emotions and secrets Shiro can't even begin to comprehend, but he realizes then and there that he wants to. It's more than morbid curiosity or a fleeting fancy, he knows all too well what it feels like to lose interest and move on with a snap of his fingers, but this isn’t that.

The look Lotor gives him makes it seem like he's just said the most ludicrous thing Lotor's ever heard, as if he thinks Shiro's lost his mind. Shiro knows better, however, and he means every word he’s said. He does trust Lotor, he trusts him to use and abuse him until he’s served his punishment.

“Fine then.” The tone Lotor uses makes it abundantly clear that not only is he not satisfied with Shiro’s answer, but he also knows better than to keep pressing the matter. Feeling Lotor shift his weight on the bed until he’s sitting back on his knees is the one and only warning Shiro gets before a clawed pair of hands take hold of his shoulders (not yet hard enough to draw blood) and flip him over onto his back.

“That little tumble of yours really messed you up,” Lotor remarks casually, like he's commenting on the weather, or some other insignificant detail, rather than what's supposed to be the most traumatic event of his entire existence.

“Would it make you feel better if it had?” A hint of a smirk plays on Shiro’s lips as he muses that Lotor might be right. It's almost alarming to think that he has no real reaction, neither to Lotor's flippancy or the fall itself, which Shiro thinks is entirely Lotor's fault.

Shiro’s a little too pleased by the scowl his question earns him. “I won’t be fooled by that sharp wit of yours.”

“I’d be disappointed if you were.” Shiro likes the idea that he might be on par with Lotor in this respect, not that his ability to make a good quip will do him any good.

The corners of Lotor’s lips tilt upwards in the smallest of smirks, giving Shiro the impression he takes amusement in his words, but otherwise remains silent as his hands push against his thighs, gently prompting him to spread his legs far enough for Lotor to climb in between and kneel in front of him, like he's Lotor's personal altar. That's when Lotor's eyes really start looking him over, eyeing every imperfection he’s not even aware of himself with an expression he can’t understand. If nothing else, Lotor’s proven himself the master of testing Shiro’s patience to the point where he can feel it slipping away with each second Lotor keeps him in wait, which is only made worse by his inability to figure out what Lotor might be thinking—more than anything else, it’s the uncertainty compounding the wait that really gets under his skin.

With his patience wearing down to nothing, Shiro has half a mind to speak up and demand Lotor get on with whatever he’s got planned, but unlike Shiro, who hasn’t the faintest idea of the sinister thoughts running through Lotor’s mind, Shiro’s fairly certain Lotor knows exactly what he’s thinking, because just before Shiro works up the nerve to tell him off, Lotor extends his hand out and over him, placing one, clawed finger on his chest, and slowly drags it down the entirety of his torso with a feather-light touch, as if he’s testing what he can do with him. Lotor's touch is hardly enough, and Shiro finds himself arching up and against Lotor, hoping he'll catch his fingertip just right and pierce his sensitive flesh. Only Lotor is no stranger to his game and recoils before Shiro can get the satisfaction he desires.

“I believe I’m in charge, no?” Lotor grins, using a noncommittal tone, suggesting he might not mind if Shiro wishes to take the lead, almost like he’d prefer to see Shiro carry out his own punishment. With how Lotor seems to be dragging this out, however, this is something he won’t do for himself. Even if it is a ruse, Shiro doesn’t want any semblance of control, it’s not his place to judge his own sins, nor decide a befitting punishment. As far as he’s concerned, that’s Lotor’s prerogative. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Shiro’s unable to suppress the faint scowl that takes shape across his face, silently telling Lotor that not only is he aware of what he’s trying to pull, but also that he’s not having it. “You are,” Shiro concedes, willing himself to maintain eye contact with Lotor, even when the subtle glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s far too pleased with Shiro’s concession.

“Very well.” Lotor nods, reaching out to Shiro once more. Curling his fingers into the sheets beneath gives Shiro the strength he needs to keep still when Lotor bestows his touch upon him, this time placing his entire hand squarely upon his chest, pressing against marred flesh before moving down, again at a sluggish pace that does its best in testing his sanity. Lotor’s fingers flex outward over Shiro’s skin, increasing contact and allowing a sharp fingertip to graze across the delicate skin of his nipple, forcing his body to act on its own accord in the way his back moves up into Lotor’s touch, only this time it’s his growing thirst for contact that motivates him, something Lotor seems to realize.

Lotor’s bright eyes glisten with delight, clearly pleased with how Shiro reacts to him and gives a bit in his staunch determination to drag this (Shiro’s no longer sure he can label whatever this is anymore) out as the pad of his thumb lingers over hardened flesh, pressing into the pert nub and drawing out a soft, hushed sigh from his lips. Shiro can’t deny the fact he enjoys this, although he’s still certain he shouldn’t. Regardless, he no longer has the nerve to question Lotor’s intentions. He lets himself have this, taking whatever reprieve he can before Lotor inevitably turns on him.

Lotor’s touch isn’t enough (which appears to be a common theme) much to Shiro’s dismay. In a display of the true demonic nature that lies just beneath the surface of Lotor’s well-crafted guise, he removes the attention he gives to such a sensitive area of Shiro’s body as his hand keeps trailing downward. Miraculously, Shiro manages to ward off the urge to protest such a decision, if only because Lotor maintains contact.

His eyes drift back and forth between Lotor's ravenous gaze and his wayfaring hand, wary of both but unable to fully concentrate on either, not when the wicked spark in Lotor's eyes serves as his only warning before Lotor's touch becomes more than a whispering cares and turns into a firm, unyielding presence resting over his genitals, making itself the clear victor in the battle for his attention.

Lotor doesn't stop there. He watches Shiro's cock, curiosity written plainly over his features, like he's a naive boy who's just come of age and is experiencing the pleasures of the flesh for the first time, but even in this state, Shiro doesn't believe it. If this is some sort of trick, Lotor's hands are far too skilled, and he clearly knows exactly what he's doing in drawing this out.

Looking right into Shiro’s eyes, Lotor's fingers wrap themselves around his cock and start to pull, using slow, languid motions, going nice and gentle working him up until Lotor drags a thumb over the head. It's subtle, but Shiro still catches a glimpse of something devilish flashing through Lotor's eyes, and that glimmer serves as his only warning before Lotor applies pressure where he needs it most, deft fingers tighten around his length while Lotor’s thumb pushes against the slit of his dick, igniting a flame in the pit of his stomach, small and feeble, yet hungry and threatening to spread if given the opportunity.

It’s unlike anything Shiro’s ever felt before. The initial mortification that engulfs him whole slowly begins to ebb away into a new, wholly indescribable sensation that only grows the longer Lotor continues to touch him with deft fingers that seem to have no other purpose than to extract and pull these unfamiliar feelings from a dark place deep within himself, a part he never knew existed before.

“Wait.” Shiro reaches out to place a hand on Lotor's wrist, successfully getting him to pause his wicked ministrations. “What's happening to me?” Shiro knows exactly what's happening, but he can't stop himself from asking. Suddenly he’s the inexperienced fledgling, which if he’s being honest, isn’t too far off base.

The corners of Lotor's lips turn upwards in a sly grin, and it’s rather obvious Lotor's trying not to laugh at his blatant naivety. “That depends.” Lotor snickers, reaching out with the arm he didn't have ahold of and starts palming his erection. His motions are deliberate yet hold a certain amount of reluctance. “Do you wish to continue?”

“I ah—” Shiro wants to answer, really, he does, but he can hardly think when Lotor's touch is nothing short of divine, making him feel like he's going to lose his grip on reality. If he had even an ounce of decency left he'd be humiliated by the fact that such a simple touch is more than enough to turn him on.

“Answer me,” Lotor purrs, leaning even more into Shiro's personal space until he's close enough to lick the shell of his ear, ripping another wanton moan from Shiro's throat. “Come on, beautiful~”

“Yes,” Shiro lets out in a soft, nearly inaudible moan.

“Could you speak up?” Lotor’s eyes glimmer with delight, as if hearing Shiro confess is the best part for him, which Shiro wouldn't be surprised about, considering how often he asks. “I didn't quite catch that.”

“Mm.” The sound that leaves Shiro's lips is little more than an undignified whine, but he has absolutely no control over himself.

“Say it, Shiro,” Lotor whispers right into Shiro’s ear, his warm breath tingles his sensitive skin, making him shiver.

When his stressed-out mind still refuses to formulate an answer Lotor will accept, Shiro, catches a glimpse of something in Lotor's eyes, something nefarious and duplicitous, and once again, the sinking feeling that Lotor’s about to turn and pull what little traction he has in this situation out from under him starts to make itself known, but before Shiro can do or say anything, Lotor’s moving away from him and ceasing all contact, leaving him aroused and thoroughly frustrated.

Shiro’s voice comes out in the form of his strangled moan, as if Lotor’s cut off his oxygen supply, instead of a pleasure that consistently toes the line of torment. Part of him thinks this could very well be Lotor's intention, however, he dismisses that notion before it has time to really take root and corrupt his mind even further. This is wrong in so many ways, but at this point, Shiro can't remember why; he's too far gone, and he yearns for the touch that's going to give him what he needs.

Lotor remains steadfast in his objective, refusing to give Shiro the relief he so desperately yearns for. This time, Shiro can see the mock disinterest in Lotor’s eyes, making him realize that Lotor might make good on his unspoken threat unless of course, he gets what he wants.

“You know what I need you to do.” With the unmistakable hint of amusement in his voice, he has no doubt Lotor's taunting him at this point.

He's right of course, Shiro knows exactly how to satisfy Lotor, and by now he can't think of a single reason to refuse.

“Yes!” Shiro finally caves, screaming his desires at the top of his lungs, loud enough for the entire world to hear.

And just like that, with one little indulgence, Lotor is on him once more, stealing away the space that torments Shiro far more than Lotor himself has of yet. As Lotor looms over him, his eyes gleaming with sweet promises of what’s to come, Shiro realizes the size difference between them. Lotor may not be as broad as he is, but he's got a clear height advantage, which only becomes more apparent now.

“Now was that so difficult?” Lotor asks, his tone playful, yet lacking in mockery, while his hands remain as devious as ever—one hand reaches out to Shiro, brushing against his kneecap and going further, ghosting against the tender skin of his inner thigh, his fingertips still refusing Shiro the suffering he’s so certain he deserves. While one hand seems intent on drawing out Shiro's anguish through ghost-like touches that make Shiro's toes curl into the comforter underneath him, the other takes a far more sympathetic approach, going straight for the erection Lotor had been frustratingly coy with only a few moments ago. His strong hand wraps itself around Shiro's cock, his thumb and pinkie finger hook together tightly around the base before those same fingers that held him in the same unyielding grip as before, revisiting his earlier ministrations and pumping Shiro's length, this time Lotor's hand works on him with an air of purpose, like he has a clear goal in mind for Shiro.

“You know what’s happening, don’t you?” Lotor asks, pulling Shiro’s attention away from his own, steadily growing arousal and back to him. It’s so easy to think Lotor’s mocking him and his obvious lack of practice, but even now he finds that difficult to believe. Lotor’s eyes remain trained on him, but they’re soft and attentive, as if he’s prepared to recoil at the first sign of discomfort or change his tactic should Shiro have second thoughts.

“Yes,” Shiro replies, not at all curious to find out what might happen if he refuses Lotor a direct response. Shiro has long since lost any sense of resilience that might find a scrap of pride in denying Lotor, and rather than dwelling on the fear of what Lotor could do, he's more interested in what Lotor is doing. His curiosity grows at a steady pace, taking the situation step by step, his failed attempts to decipher how far Lotor will push him to serve as the fuel that keeps the wonder alive, while his excitement isn't nearly as kind.

His actions are simple, yet every jerk of Lotor's hand sends his arousal through a spurt of exponential growth, making it more difficult to keep himself in place while Lotor works on him, inching him closer and closer to—

Shiro may know what’s coming, but he’s not ready to think about that just yet.

“It’s all right.” Shiro finds himself clinging to the softness in Lotor’s voice, accepting anything that gives him even a second of peace. “Let yourself indulge, Shiro, nothing’s keeping you.” The hand Lotor’s kept on his thigh reminds him of his presence as agile fingers drag down the expanse of his thigh, making him tremble with need.

For the first time, the thought to ask Lotor for something more crosses his mind—the plea sits on the tip of his tongue, all Shiro needs to do is open his mouth and let himself be heard. If anything Lotor’s told him carries any weight, then this is exactly what he wants, and Shiro has a hard time believing he wouldn’t get it, provided he makes the right appeal.

“Can—” he lets out a shaky breath, refusing to give himself a second to reconsider. “Can you—”

Just then, he catches sight of a flicker from the corner of his eye. It’s nothing new, on some level he’s been aware of its presence the entire time, only now something’s clicked in the back of his mind, and he knows exactly what he’s looking at as he watches the fire reflect in Lotor’s eyes.

Lotor looks down at him, his expectant gaze bores into his soul, yet Shiro still can’t bring himself to elaborate. Instead, his eyes dare to wander away from Lotor and drift over to the corner of the room, where the room’s sole light source burns brightly, the smoldering embers that dance freely in the fireplace captivate and inspire him. At last, Shiro knows what he wants, a concrete desire that doesn't simply ask for 'more’.

“Where did you get that?” he asks without looking back at Lotor. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lotor turn his attention over to the fire as well.

“Oh, you recognize this?” A bizarre sense of pride swells within Shiro's chest upon hearing how impressed Lotor seems with him. His eyes slowly meander back to Lotor, where the mischievous smirk plastered on his face says it all.

“It doesn't belong here,” Shiro says matter-of-factly, as if he still has the authority over the matter, or better yet, any reason to do anything about it. He doesn't, but his lack of power doesn't stop the literal flames of hell from burning in the fireplace, the blue embers innocently licking at the kindling, as if to pass for a normal fire.

“I brought it here,” Lotor's reply is simple, like his mere whim completely excuses the fact he brought a forbidden object to Earth with him. It doesn't, not that it matters, Shiro's no longer in a position to do anything about it, and truth be told, he’s fucking ecstatic. A vile, almost depraved idea comes to mind as his gaze remains transfixed on the bright flame, and before he has the time to really think about what he wants, once again, he's getting ahead of himself and making his wishes heard.

“Use it.”

Shiro's almost surprised when Lotor's smile disappears, suggesting he's finally crossed the invisible line that separates Lotor's comfort zone from the real punishment he yearns for. If he has, he doesn’t care. If Lotor’s as keen as he claims on letting Shiro enjoy himself, then he’ll deal with the consequences.

“Well?” Shiro asks after a few moments of silence.

A morbid sense of accomplishment quells within his chest once Lotor backs away from him and looks over to the fire. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” His voice is firm and leaves little room for questioning.

“I don't want to hurt you.” His voice is so soft that Shiro can just barely hear him. If Lotor had been anyone else, or if the circumstances had been a little different, he might have believed him. Lotor seems so genuine, but Shiro's still not ready to fall for any of it, nor has he figured out why Lotor insists on continuing his bit.

It doesn't matter though, Shiro quickly reminds himself. While Lotor carries on with his game, he'll be the one to push forward.

“I want you to.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro knows how horribly fucked this situation is. It doesn't make any sense for his punisher to hesitate or shirk his responsibility, and it makes even less sense for him to take the lead when Lotor makes him so unbearably impatient. Nevertheless, he maintains eye contact with Lotor, keeping his resolve until Lotor eventually looks to the side, which in any other instance, might have been the most alarming aspect.

It's not. Even when he's not looking directly at him, Shiro still takes note of the pensive expression covering Lotor's face; he finds the look so disconcerting that he can't take a second to revel in his victory, and he's left feeling more insecure than ever. For a split second, he thinks to rescind his demands, to take it all back and let Lotor do whatever he’d planned originally, like he should have been doing all along.

But just before Shiro can say anything, the troubled look on Lotor's face disappears, only to be replaced with a wicked expression he knows rather well, one that gives him no indication of what Lotor might be thinking. A sense of familiarity washes over him as Lotor pulls himself away and climbs out of bed, not sparing him a single glance as he heads directly for the fireplace.

Shiro can't think of a good reason to keep himself from watching Lotor stride across the room, his eyes drift up Lotor's long legs, marveling at the finely sculpted muscles of his calves move with supreme grace in the firelight. It's only when those provocative legs deviate from the path that leads straight to the fire and turns over to the side that Shiro realizes he'd been licking his lips. He tries to tell himself his actions stem from anticipation over Lotor finally giving into his desires, and not from the fact that he enjoys the fantastic view Lotor willingly gives him of his bare ass, because it's definitely _not_ that.

Shaking his head, Shiro redirects his attention towards the new trail Lotor's taken; curious eyes follow as Lotor stops in front a large cabinet. To Shiro's dismay, the distance between Lotor and the hellish flames is great enough to where he can't see the furniture’s finer details, nor the object Lotor takes from within it. Lotor gives him a passing glance as he turns around and makes his way back to the fire, as if to make sure he still has Shiro's full attention. When he steps into the light, his gaze falls upon the silver candelabrum Lotor holds over the blazing embers, lighting each of the six candles one by one until each wick bears the literal flames of Hell.

When Lotor turns back to him with his lit candelabrum in toe, Shiro sees a sly grin playing upon his lips, and coupled with a certain flicker in his eyes, Shiro can tell Lotor knows he's been checking him out. He doesn't say anything and makes his way back over to Shiro without further preamble. Before getting back into bed, Lotor places the candle set on the nightstand, mere inches away from Shiro's head, allowing him to take in the faint scent of frankincense and notice the small beads of wax that have already begun to drip from the candles, which lose his attention entirely once Lotor climbs back into bed, eying him with an expectant gaze full of renewed determination.

“What's my name?”

Shiro blinks, unsure of why Lotor would ask, but nevertheless, he complies.

“Lotor.”

Lotor gives him a low, approving hum. “Say it again.”

“Lotor,” Shiro repeats himself, still very much uncertain.

“Excellent.” His usual grin begins to reappear on his face. “You will call my name if you wish me to stop. Is that clear?”

“I don't—” Lotor's eyes narrow into a solid glare that surely would've put Shiro six feet under if he were mortal.

Considering who Lotor is, he supposes it's unreasonable for him to understand Lotor's demands before his entire demeanor changes right before Shiro's eyes. Suddenly, the small flecks of light Shiro had labeled as something resembling compassion are gone, only to be replaced with a far more sinister expression, one that strikes fear into his heart and excites him at the same time. He finds out the hard way that Lotor's ability to speak has disappeared along with the small bit of benevolence he tried to give him when Lotor's hands dart out with a speed Shiro's never seen from him and takes hold of his shoulders. Claws that Shiro is certain didn't exist until now angrily dig into his shoulder blades; Lotor's needle-like nails are so incredibly sharp that he hardly feels any pressure before the metallic scent of his own blood fills his nostrils. Without giving him the chance to react, Lotor uses the grip he has on Shiro and flips him over to his stomach. The mattress is so soft that it absorbs the shock, and the only real pain Shiro feels is from Lotor's claws embedded into his shoulder blades, which soon dislodge themselves from his aching flesh.

“How's that?” Lotor asks, obviously referring to the rough treatment he'd just given him as careful fingers brush against the small puncture wounds in his skin. Shiro will never admit it, but he finds Lotor's touch soothing, almost as if he's healing his injuries, rather than the soft tissue healing because of his own power.

“You can do better,” he replies, wondering if such a brazen attempt at pushing Lotor has any chance of working.

It doesn't. Lotor remains well above Shiro’s petty taunting and opts to lean over him, supporting his weight by placing his hands on either side of Shiro's head. Lotor's silken hair drifting over his back serves as his only warning before Shiro feels Lotor's tongue pressing against the nap of his neck, licking a strip across his shoulder blade and presumably lapping away each drop of blood that beads up at the punctures in his skin.

“It’s sweet.” Lotor's casual tone makes it sound like he's talking about candy, and not his blood. “I rather like the taste.”

Shiro replies with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “I wouldn't know.”

“Wouldn't you?” If he's not mistaken, Lotor almost seems surprised by this. “Would you like to try?”

Lotor doesn't give Shiro the chance to respond, instead, he feels another shift in the mattress as Lotor leans in closer this time reaching over and nearly shoving his hand into his face, forcing Shiro to take in the bitter metallic scent of his own blood. Overtaken by a sudden bout of curiosity, Shiro parts his lips, allowing his tongue to dart out and contact the tips of Lotor’s fingers and lap up the droplets of blood that cling to his soft skin.

Shiro’s not exactly sure if ‘sweet’ is the exact term he’d use to describe the tangy flavor, but he knows there's no point in arguing. Even so, there's something addicting about the taste that lingers on his tongue, and Shiro can't stop himself from moving onto a second finger, and then the next until Lotor's hand is free of his blood.

Shiro gathers actions are enough of a reply on their own, because Lotor never asks his opinion, and instead brings his hands back to Shiro's shoulders, trailing down his back, his razor-sharp nails grazing over the scarred tissue, making Shiro wait with baited breath.

“Your wounds have healed quite nicely,” Lotor muses, using a tone that suggests he might be talking to himself, rather than adding to their conversation, “and quickly, but that's really no surprise.”

Lotor continues, caressing Shiro’s back repeatedly, leaving no patch of skin untouched, almost like he's searching for any sign of distress. In fact, he knows it—Shiro can feel Lotor's gaze boring into him, taking note of the slightest of twitch, but Shiro gives him nothing to suspect he might be in pain, which is the truth—he isn't. Shiro thinks Lotor might sink his nails back into his newly-healed flesh and make him bleed some more, in fact, he craves it—the agony, the scent, the sickening sensation of liquid dripping down his back—Shiro wants it all.

Or at least he thinks he does, that is, until Lotor pulls his hands away from him completely and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips while refraining from further contact.

“I think it's time you're rewarded for being so patient.” Lotor still uses the same, conversational tone, but this time Shiro has no doubt that something's coming his way.

“Hmm,” Shiro lets out a soft hum, amazed that he finds himself relaxing under Lotor's touch, despite his promise to finally deliver whatever sort of punishment Lotor sees fit.

In lieu of a response, Shiro feels Lotor shift above him; he turns his head to the side, only to find Lotor tinkering with the candelabrum.

“'No’ is still an option,” Lotor reminds him, a wistful note peppers his voice and reminds Shiro of despondent voices from Earth echoing up to Heaven, pleading for good fortune or salvation in one form or another, if only so the Lord Almighty himself might see fit to show his devoted worshippers a shred of sympathy and grant a wish or two, provided it didn't interfere with the master plan.

Remembering the disgust he felt with the randomness of those decisions leaves Shiro with a lingering sense of irony, which he can't help but get a kick out of. Lotor won't find an answer to his prayer here, and they both know it.

A few seconds pass in silence before Lotor resumes tending to the flames. Shiro watches with intense concentration, realizing that generous amounts of wax have already collected at the base of each candle. Lotor’s hands move with unwavering grace, as if he's completely immune to the intense heat coming from the fire as he removes one candle from its place, letting the last trailing drop fall soundlessly into the dish and ripple through the violet pool of liquid wax below before blowing the candle out and setting it off to the side for the moment.

Lotor repeats the same procedure with all five candles, filling the crevice to the point where wax begins to overflow and drip down the side once more. A soft hum passing through Lotor's lips lets him know that everything’s been set, and all Lotor needs to do now is act.

“Brace yourself, Shiro.”

Taking in a calming breath, Shiro turns back to look straight ahead, focusing on the intricate, wholly nonsensical design carved into the hardwood of the headboard; not an ounce of tension runs through his veins as Lotor moves closer to him. The fire crackling softly in the background is the only sound he hears—there's no warning of any kind, not a scratch against the wooden surface of the nightstand, not the lingering vestiges of a soft breeze resulting from sudden movement, nothing. The lack of any stimuli sends his mind reeling, almost to the point where he dares to look back, but then it happens suddenly, causing Shiro's racing mind to go blank as he absorbs the initial shock of the near-boiling liquid contacting his freshly-healed skin. It starts at the juncture of his shoulder blades, just below the nape of his neck and continues down his spine at an agonizingly slow pace, making Shiro endure the burn to the fullest extent possible. He knows it's all in his head, but nevertheless, the foul stench of snow-white feathers scorching away into charred flesh overwhelms his senses, and once again he's in free-fall, spiraling out of control towards Earth and about to crash land at any second. It’s coming, he can feel it.

Just before that happens, Shiro opens his eyes, seeing the intricate patterns of the headboard and the soft blue light of hellfire flickering with ferocity on the candelabrum from the nightstand, and he realizes he’s not falling; Lotor has him firmly grounded beneath him while he continues adhering to Shiro’s wishes and covering his back with sizzling hot wax. Without a doubt, the flames of hell burn with an intensity that far outshines any fire known to man, and while his newly-rejuvenated skin remains intact, Shiro can’t help the agonized hiss that escapes his lips.

Given Lotor's attitude towards the notion of unleashing his power and putting him through unbearable torment, part of Shiro fears Lotor might put an end to this long before he gets his fill of the punishment he deserves and the burn ventures into the territory of torture Lotor has complete control over—he thinks to look back and catch a glimpse at Lotor, to maybe discern whatever's going on in his mind, but he never gets the opportunity. The wax keeps coming, flowing over the board expanse of his back and guided by Lotor's fingers spreading the searing liquid over his sore muscles. Even now, Shiro finds comfort in Lotor's touch, the tension gradually eases out of his body when he feels the gentle press of finger pads against his skin, drawing nonsensical, abstract shapes into the wax as it slowly begins to cool and solidify over his flesh.

The wax never leaves his back, nor does Lotor dare pour it anywhere else, yet Shiro feels as if his entire body has been set aflame—while pain is the primary sensation, the anguish is short-lasting, and the feeling that his skin will melt away gradually ebbs away into something else that’s still new to him, but not entirely unfamiliar. Shiro’s certain the only way he could feel any warmer than he is now is if Lotor were to drop the candle and burn him in a more direct manner, but that fact does nothing to stop a sudden shiver from coursing through his veins, almost as if the wax he’d received has turned to ice.

An unbridled sense of mortification racks Shiro’s being when he realizes the true severity of his situation, or more specifically, just how messed up he really is. More than the searing pain, and far more prevalent than the flashbacks that feel a little too real, as each drop drips down and settles at the small of his back, Shiro becomes acutely aware that it’s all going straight to his dick, and he finds himself far more aroused than before. He likes it, perhaps a little too much, and this time Lotor keeps delivering; Shiro can't help but think Lotor has somehow known this all along, making Shiro's pleasure the real reason for his persistence. Even if this is part of Lotor’s plan, Shiro’s far too gone to care—if Lotor’s so keen on turning his twisted desires into a form of equally depraved pleasure, then so be it. He doesn’t have the strength, nor the will to object anymore.

“You’re handling this quite well,” Lotor says after a bit, setting the candle back on the bedside table, silently telling Shiro that they’re finished, at least for the time being. He can see fresh beads of wax dripping down the candles that had been left on the candelabrum, and he knows it will only be a short while before there’s enough for another round.

“What were you expecting?” From Lotor’s tone of voice, Shiro can’t tell whether there’s any sincerity to Lotor’s words or not, but for inexplicable reasons, Shiro wants to know if Lotor’s disappointed in him.

“I’m still uncertain of what to expect from you,” Lotor admits in a hushed voice. Maybe it’s not the answer Shiro’s hoping for, but even so it’s far from the worst, and for now, he’ll take it.

Lotor’s sharp nails wedge themselves in between the malleable substance with careful delicacy, just barely scratching the tender surface of his skin as he pulls the wax away piece by piece, until his back is clean and exposed once more. There are no words exchanged between them as he feels Lotor shift his weight above him, lowering himself back over him until his icy lips make contact with Shiro’s aching flesh and eliciting a soft, indescribable sound from his throat. Shiro’s body goes taut under Lotor’s kiss, feeling like he’d been frozen from one simple touch. Lotor doesn’t stop there. He repeats his actions, taking his time in covering Shiro in gentle kisses he soon realizes aren’t cold, that the initial freeze stems from shock more than the actual temperature, but compared to the boiling liquid he’s just experienced, the kisses are soothing enough to quell the residual burn from before.

Soon enough he senses Lotor moving once more, removing himself from Shiro entirely in favor of kneeling on the bed next to him, a tender hand still wandering up and down his back, almost as if Lotor intends his care to be some sort of apology he’s not supposed to issue. Even if it is, Shiro couldn’t care less, he won’t accept anything he doesn’t deserve, and he’s most certainly not entitled to attention like this.

“Again.” Shiro’s voice is more forceful than it has any right to be, but he’s already fed up with the gentle treatment Lotor seems insistent upon showing him. As far as Shiro’s concerned, he has an eternity ahead of him, and as such he’s more than willing to wait for Lotor to collect enough fresh wax and make him feel the sweet sting of molten-hot fire once more.

“Perhaps later,” Lotor replies, obviously amused with his tone. “For now, I have something else in mind for you.” The sly grin playing upon his lips is his only warning before Lotor’s hands clasp the back of his shoulders and turn him on to his back, only now he’s far gentler than last time. The re-exposure to the cool air reminds him of just how unbearably hard he is, and the sensation forces another less pronounced hum of displeasure from his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. Shiro tries to move, not in an attempt to get away, but as a reflex. Unfortunately, his limbs are numb and feel like dead weight—he can’t register the sensation of Lotor crawling in between his legs and settling in front of him, looking down at him with an expression that’s as unreadable as ever.

“I think it’s time I took care of this.” Lotor makes it sound like he’s doing Shiro a favor rather than getting to the part of their ‘game’ he’s been looking forward to since the beginning, and without further preamble, reaches out and allows his slim fingers to wrap around Shiro’s erection just like before, only now he’s not quite as coy with how he handles the engorged flesh, which isn't to say he goes easy on Shiro. For all the 'kindness’ he's been shown, Lotor proves himself every bit as evil as he's rumored to be with the way he works Shiro's cock, leading him all the way to the edge of sanity, only to keep him from the release he's been chasing after with earnest.

As Lotor continues to indulge himself in touching him without restraint, Shiro can’t help but think this might be the most torturous part of the night, and really, it’s no wonder Lotor appears to be enjoying himself so much. Shiro knows how wrong this is, it’s impossible for him to reason or justify himself anymore, because just like before, it’s about a lot more than a punishment befitting his crimes, and he can’t deny it any longer.

“Do you have anything to say?” In spite of the obvious delight Lotor's takes in his undoing, there’s still the barest hint of something tender hidden within Lotor’s voice, not that Shiro understands why. He’s well past the point of feigning anything resembling kindness, but then again, Shiro’s not all that convinced Lotor’s treatment is part of some grander scheme anymore.

“More.” Shiro hardly recognizes his own voice as his answer slips past his lips in the form of a moan that's a little too needy to misconstrue as anything less than a plea for attention.

Lotor nods, satisfaction written clearly on his face as he doubles down on Shiro's cock, pumping his length with fast, yet powerful movements. Lotor's idle hand rests on his inner thigh, never going beyond a light caress as the hand that holds his dick does all the work, his fingers smearing the pre-come over his tender flesh and making him nice and slick to his touch while his thumb presses into the oversensitive head. At long last, he's well beyond the point of holding back—an endless stream of curses spill from his lips as his back arches off the bed in a vain attempt at getting closer to Lotor, when he only ever gets as close as Lotor wants him to.

“You needn't hold back.” Lotor's quiet voice breaks through his haze and it takes him a moment to understand what Lotor's saying, and even longer to come to terms with their shared circumstances. Shiro forgets how he's gotten himself into this mess and what he should be doing, and instead focuses on chasing after the sweet bliss Lotor promises him, while simultaneously wallowing in the raw anguish Lotor bestows upon him when he denies him that release.

But then again, Lotor's no longer refusing him, and his tireless ministrations prove his sincerity. All Shiro needs to do now is give in.

And that's exactly what he does. He tries to warn Lotor, but the right words refuse to make themselves known as he finally lets himself go, reaching his long-awaited climax and coating Lotor's hand with his essence—the rush is unlike anything he's ever felt before in his entire existence, it's a drug that surges through his veins at the speed of light, leaving him euphoric and wholly numb to everything around him.

At that moment, as he lays there completely exposed and used up in the most intimate way possible under Lotor's enchanting gaze, Shiro comes to the stark realization that this is who he follows now. He doesn't have the strength, nor the will to fight it, but he doesn't need to.

Shiro's not sure what's coming next. Whether Lotor plans to continue (not that he has the brain capacity to process anything beyond his own high and slowly claw his way back to reality) or try something a bit more sinister, he is uncertain, but Lotor never does as he expects. Lotor never once looks away as he leans in closer, lowering himself until Shiro can no longer see his eyes as Lotor presses his lips against his neck, giving Shiro the most affectionate touch he's ever experienced in his entire existence. Just like everything else Lotor does, his ministrations are slow and maintain a sense of purpose, continuing a trail of tender kisses over Shiro’s skin and across his collarbone.

“What are you doing?” His body goes rigid under Lotor's tender touch. He shouldn't be doing this, Shiro still can't figure out why Lotor insists on giving him such gentle treatment, especially now, after he has demonstrated what he's capable of, and should be doing more.

“Haven’t you suffered enough?” Lotor stops kissing down Shiro’s chest and looks back up at him, an unmistakable note of concern flashes through his eyes.

“Hardly.” Shiro’s answer is firm and definitive.

“How can you tell?” Lotor continues to press soft kisses that are far gentler than he'll ever deserve onto his abused flesh. Shiro knows his wounds have healed and scarred over (Lotor doesn't have to explicitly tell him he wouldn't have conceded to using the hellfire wax if he'd still had any abrasions on his skin) but that doesn't mean he's not sore. Lotor's treatment does wonders for him, but he can't shake the notion he's not allowed to have this.

“The pain,” Shiro sighs. “It won’t stop.”

Shiro nearly misses a certain glimmer flashing through Lotor's eyes, but that one glimpse tells him there's no one on Earth who understands him more. Lotor doesn't inquire further or say anything else, but instead reverts his attention back to his body, layering his skin in soft kisses as fervently as before, even though he has to know he can't possibly solve this.

“Why?” Shiro finds himself asking when he's unable to find an answer on his own.

“Why?” Lotor repeats, as if he's unsure of what Shiro's getting at.

“This,” the exasperation in his voice is more than evident as he gestures to Lotor and to everything around them. Shiro wants everything Lotor has to offer him, yet he has no right to allow himself anything so exquisite.

“I don't deserve this,” Shiro admits after a moment, hoping Lotor will understand.

Lotor tilts his head to the side, watching him closely. “You only think you know what you deserve.”

Shiro can't help but frown and feels borderline insulted over Lotor’s arrogance. “You have no idea what I deserve.”

Lotor watches him in silence, his eyes narrowing as if he’s the one who’s just been offended. “You are far too demanding for someone who's meant to accept punishment.” His voice holds none of its previous gentleness, and somehow the room feels far chillier than it did before.

There’s a small part of him that has already accepted this form of treatment and grown comfortable with Lotor, but the lingering threat in his tone throws him back into a downward spiral of crippling uncertainty. No matter how hard Shiro tries to keep an air of detachment and feign disinterest, again his body serves him nothing but betrayal, going cold and rigid under Lotor.

A sigh escapes Lotor’s lips. “Relax.” The soft timbre of his voice puts Shiro back at ease as Lotor reaches out to run an equally tender hand through his damp hair. “I told you before, haven’t I? I’m not here to punish you.”

“Not in those exact words, no,” Shiro replies, turning away from Lotor’s gaze.

“You’re hearing them now.” Lotor’s hand trails down to Shiro’s cheek, where it lingers for a short while, his fingertips just barely brush against his jawline, where Shiro finds himself leaning into the touch, despite himself. “You’ve just said it yourself,” Lotor carries on, “I have no idea what form of consequence befits a Fallen Angel, nor do I know what you’ve done to end up on Earth. Shouldn’t I be aware of all of that and more if I was truly meant to penalize you, to make sure the punishment fits the crime, so to speak?”

Shiro doesn't respond. There's nothing he could say that he hasn't already, and if Lotor still can't (or won't) deliver a fitting punishment, then it's never going to happen. This time, he doesn’t wonder whether Lotor’s being truthful or not and accepts his words as they are. As far as Shiro knows, Lotor has exactly what he wants, and he can’t think of how a lie would benefit him in any capacity.

The situation terrifies Shiro more than anything else. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, not with himself, not with anything—it’s a completely unchartered territory he fell into head-first, and there’s no foreseeable end in sight. But despite everything that’s gone down, Shiro can't bring himself to label his time with Lotor as a mistake, not when Lotor’s soft treatment threatens to make him forget everything else. That brief, yet intense moment of ecstasy remains crystal clear in his mind, and Shiro’s all but certain he’ll never quite get over that. Even with his climax and the afterglow long over, the residual sensations send tingles down his spine and plant the seeds of reciprocation that quickly take root and drive him into action.

“What about you?” Shiro asks, glancing down towards Lotor’s nether region. He doesn’t appear aroused, however Shiro figures that can be rectified easily enough.

“Hmmm?”

“This.” Feeling like no explanation is necessary, Shiro doesn't wait for Lotor's answer before reaching out to touch him, going straight for his cock, intent on giving Lotor the same treatment he'd received only a moment ago.

Again, he gets ahead of himself, thinking this is what Lotor desires, that he’s simply pushing his agenda along and bringing them both closer to a finale they both may or may not want.

But then it happens again. At this point, Shiro thinks he really should start expecting the unexpected, because after everything, he doesn’t have the right to feel anything resembling surprise. Shiro never gets even remotely close before Lotor’s swatting his hand away, striking with a speed that frightens him more than it stings. The look in Lotor's eyes suggests he's every bit as surprised as he is, that he hadn't meant to harm him and that his actions were purely reflexive.

“You're not ready for that,” Lotor says simply, pushing Shiro's hand away with far more finesse than before, but doesn't offer any further explanation.

Shiro blinks, his instincts take over as he reaches out again, thinking his persistence might convince Lotor of his sincerity. “I can take it.”

“My cock is not a punishment,” Lotor reiterates, this time taking hold of his hand and giving it a light, yet assertive squeeze, before setting it down on the bed, almost like he's daring Shiro to try him again and see what happens.

“So that's where you draw the line, is it?” Shiro can hardly believe a word he's saying right now. This isn't like him, he has no desire to instigate or goad Lotor into doing something against his will, however, a small, almost insignificant voice in the back of his mind wonders if this isn't what he's been doing the entire time.

For once, Lotor doesn’t have an automatic reply. In a different conversation, Shiro might have taken pleasure in making Lotor speechless, but as it is, Lotor’s silence leaves him feeling hollow and like he wants to empty the contents of his stomach, even though that’s impossible for him.

“You should know,” Lotor speaks up again after a few moments, “no amount of physical pain will ever be enough to rid you of the torment you feel inside.”

“You’re wrong.”

“It’s only temporary.” Again, Shiro’s not pleased with how sure of himself Lotor is, but his unwavering, albeit unjustified confidence has begun to grow on him, if only a little bit.

Letting out a soft sigh, Shiro looks back at Lotor, meeting his gaze. “That’s all I’m asking for.” Shiro doesn't know what else he can say because when he gets down to it, his feelings really are that simple.

“And now?” He feels Lotor’s cold lips against his raw flesh as he resumes his earlier ministrations. “What do you feel?”

“I don’t know.” Shiro could give a physical description, but he knows what Lotor's really asking for. But otherwise, he can't bring himself to explain right now. Nothing makes sense, and now he's more uncertain than ever.

Perhaps that's not entirely accurate. There is one thing he knows. “Just, please don’t stop.” Finally, Shiro gives in and lets Lotor care for him to his heart's content without complaint.

“Now was that so difficult?” Lotor’s lips turn upwards in a smile against Shiro’s skin as he continues to layer his chest with soft kisses.

“You need to quit while you're ahead.” The tiniest of smirks spread across Shiro’s face—it's been so long that it hurts his jaw to smile more than that.

Looking over to the side, he finds Lotor staring at him with wide, curious eyes. For a second, he wonders whether Lotor's blinked even once since they settled down, but that thought disappears when his eyes close after they've held each other's gazes for more than a few moments at a time. The gesture, as subtle as it is, makes Lotor look a lot calmer than ever before, like he’s completely at ease, and around Shiro of all beings.

“Do you sleep?” Shiro wonders aloud, knowing how ridiculous he sounds, but at this point, he doesn't have enough shame left in him to care.

“Do you?” Lotor counters without answering the original question, not that Shiro expects anything less.

“I can.” A content sigh leaves Shiro’s lips as he allows himself to relax under Lotor's gaze, which even now he finds as mystifying as it was before their tryst began. His hand seems to take on a mind of his own as he reaches out to run his fingers over the smooth skin of Lotor's cheek, taking note the dark circles under Lotor's eyes while he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Will you?”

Lotor doesn't answer at first, as if this is one of the most important decisions he's ever had to make. “Will you be here in the morning?” The look in his eyes makes it all too apparent that his choice is entirely dependent upon his presence. Strangely enough, Shiro gets an odd sense of gratification from this, knowing that someone in the universe wants him around.

“You're real, right?” Shiro knows exactly how stupid that sounds, but he doesn't care. He needs this. He needs Lotor to tell him that his crazed mind isn't making some vivid hallucination in a desperate attempt to save himself.

Thankfully, Lotor doesn't look at him like he's gone mad, nor does he give off even the slightest hint of being perplexed.

“I am,” is Lotor's only reply.

“Then where else would I go?” Shiro asks, managing a small, yet genuine smile as he reaches out to run a hand through Lotor's hair, finally allowing himself to give into the sweet temptation that's been calling out to him since the beginning. He feels Lotor’s body become tense as his fingers idly comb through gorgeous white locks; a few seconds pass before an emotion Shiro hasn’t seen before flashes through Lotor’s eyes, like he’s decided to allow himself this much, but Shiro won’t push any further to test that theory.

Although it's not a direct answer, Lotor seems satisfied as he lowers his head back down onto Shiro's chest, ghosting his lips over tender flesh in the gentlest of kisses before settling down completely. Lotor doesn’t stop him, so he carries on, carding through Lotor’s hair as if it’s something they’ve always shared with each other—he knows it’s not real, but the sentiment gives him a warm sense of familiarity he’s not ready to let go of just yet.

And with the way Lotor seems content curled up around him, he gathers Lotor feels the same way. “You may not realize this yet, but you belong here with me,” Lotor all but whispers into his chest.

Once again, that same note of arrogance layers Lotor’s voice, and although he’s all but admitted to having no clue what to do with Shiro, he still wants to believe him. It’s more than mere desire, he needs something he can cling to when his entire world’s been thrown into a tailspin and everything else around him has already shattered beyond repair.

But not Lotor, he’s right here, with him, and if nothing else, Shiro knows he’s not going anywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro's not sure how long he's been here; time remains a concept he’s yet to grasp. Whether it’s because he can’t wrap his mind around the idea, or he simply refuses to understand, he doesn’t know, though Lotor insists the issue stems from the latter.

Truthfully, he gets the point: sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in one hour, twenty-four hours in one day, seven days in one week, four and a half weeks in one month (give or take a day or two) and twelve months in one year. It’s rather arbitrary in Shiro’s opinion, which comes from an immortal creature who primarily remains within the confines of his—he continues to have a difficult time putting a label on Lotor—his companion’s (he decides for a lack of a better word) mansion. Lotor insists the entire system depends upon the Earth’s rotation and how the planet orbits around the sun, but Shiro continues to find little significance with this information.

Little by little, Shiro grows accustomed to his new way of life. He finds the cycle of day and night monotonous and exhaustingly repetitive, especially when Lotor’s nowhere to be found, but he’s come to accept it nonetheless. Every day before he leaves, Lotor goes out of his way to both make sure Shiro knows that he wishes for Shiro’s presence upon his return, and to make it clear nothing is keeping him here.

“I need to be going,” Lotor tells him one morning, rushing through the kitchen, gathering his belongings as per usual until he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the kitchen island he sits at every morning.

Shiro looks up from the news article he’s currently preoccupied with (he’s taken to reading as his preferred pastime) and glances at the clock where the same numbers he always sees shine brightly in his direction after Lotor announces his departure.

“All right,” Shiro replies simply. Sometimes he takes a sip of coffee from the cup that always sits off to the side, one that Lotor had prepared fresh for him only moments prior, and other times his glance shifts straight to Lotor, watching him with a passive, slightly disinterested expression. “I’ll be here.”

“Will you?” Shiro’s lost count of how many times they’ve had this conversation, yet even now Lotor sounds skeptical, like he truly believes he’ll come home and find that Shiro’s long gone.

“I suppose I might not be if the place spontaneously catches fire, but in that case, your home wouldn’t be here either, so I suspect you’d have bigger issues to worry about if that were the case.” Shiro never mentions the hellfire that burns eternally in Lotor’s bedroom—he’s all but certain Lotor has those flames under control, and if they could cause an issue, they would have done so long ago.

Shiro poses variations of his answer each time, but his remarks incorporate the same amount of sarcasm, and the small frown that forms upon Lotor’s lips as a result never fails to leave him with a strange sense of satisfaction.

“I’ll be home at eight,” Lotor reminds him, pointedly ignoring what Shiro figures he perceives as less than amusing answers as he reaches over the bar and out to Shiro. Shiro lets Lotor caress his cheek, in fact, he welcomes the touch. It doesn't matter how many times this exact scenario occurs, there's still a darkened corner in the back of his mind, one that harbors the sickening thought that Lotor might turn on him the second he allows himself to get too comfortable, he nurtures it with his residual insecurities until it becomes impossible for Shiro to ignore.

“Okay,” Shiro nods in understanding. He never repeats himself from before or says anything that might reassure Lotor, if for no other reason than because it leaves him free of commitment—after all, he can’t break a promise he didn’t make in the first place.

Lotor’s hand touches him for a short while longer, his fingers tracing along his jawline in a gentle caress, treating him like he’s a delicate flower and not the fallen angel who so blatantly demanded torture from him their first night together. It doesn’t matter how sincere Lotor appears, that same inkling of fear that festers within still threatens to ruin Shiro if he so much as thinks of reciprocating Lotor’s affection.

So, he stands there motionless, his expression vacant as he watches Lotor pull away and leave without saying anything else. Shiro never allows himself to look directly at Lotor, afraid he might find disappointment or something worse flashing through his bright eyes.

With Lotor gone, Shiro’s left alone in the obscenely enormous mansion Lotor refers to as a home, free to do anything he desires, including leave, he always reminds himself. He never does, and at this point, he’s not sure he ever will, but the option remains regardless. It’s a thought he shoves in the back of his mind, along with the rest of his insecurities, and instead of pondering it further, Shiro decides to busy himself with the various little activities he's found to occupy his time.

For the first few weeks, he spends most of his time exploring his new ‘playground’ and getting the layout of the niche Lotor’s made for himself on Earth in the daylight, when the sun pours through the windows, illuminating every last detail that eludes him in the darkness. Outside of Lotor’s room, several artifacts he longer has the authority to do anything about catch his attention as he walks through the house that’s far too big for a single person, passing by the lavish decor and extravagant artwork covering the walls. Most of which, Shiro can’t help but notice has a religious context, although he can’t spot a central theme or story that connects the paintings together. The collection seems random, and if there’s one thing he knows of Lotor with certainty, it’s that disorganization in any form doesn’t suit him.

There has to be a link between each piece, something he’s not seeing just yet; if there’s one good thing about being left alone for hours on end, it’s that he has all the time in the world to figure it out.

Undoubtedly, the most difficult part of his adjustment had been figuring out what to do with himself once Lotor left the house for the day. He’d gone from never having a moment to spare, always the one in charge, making the crucial decisions as only a leader of his stature would do, to having his schedule completely wiped off every engagement in an instant. When he’s not careful and lets his mind wander to the past, and specifically how busy he used to be, he tends to get a little stir-crazy, and on more than one occasion Lotor’s come home to find him sprinting up and down the halls, for no other reason than because he has so much pent up energy and nowhere to put it—to which Lotor simply replies that he’s ‘bored out of his mind’ (a common expression amongst humans he later finds out) and that he knows how to fix that.

After that instance, Lotor taught him a few pastimes humans enjoy when they’re not caught up in the minutia of their daily lives. After discovering the joy of reading, Lotor is quick to direct him to the wealth of literature he keeps in the manor’s designated library—one of the many over-sized rooms lined with bookshelves that reach all the way to the ceiling.

Now, Shiro never plans out his day, and leaves the oh-so-important decision on what to do today up to however he’s feeling, rather than planning out the tasks required of him, and he'd be lying if he tried saying the power to do as he pleases isn’t the least bit liberating. His newfound freedom is only compounded when he remembers the conversation he and Lotor have every morning. He can do anything, and he’s not limited to the confines of Lotor’s home. He feels the sun’s warmth through the windows every single day, but someday there might not be a sheet of glass standing between him and the sun. Shiro doesn’t know when that might be or if his affinity for the sun has any correlation to Lotor, or holds any significance he’s not yet willing to delve into.

His day starts off like any other. After Lotor leaves, he picks up where he’d left off, taking up the tablet Lotor had given him and proceeds to scroll through the electronic newspaper’s latest headlines, only stopping if he happens upon a title that piques his interest. As he reads, Shiro likes to imagine the mornings when Lotor doesn’t leave, when he’ll take a moment to peek over Shiro’s shoulder and catch a glimpse at whatever topic he’s chosen, only to scoff a few seconds later, ranting over how trivial he finds the petty affairs humans get themselves involved in, and how he’ll never figure out why Shiro wastes his time concerning himself with matters that won’t ever make a difference in the grand scheme of things while he goes off to prepare breakfast. The thought brings a smile to his lips, although he’s not sure why. As the weeks continue on, he finds himself in a domestic relationship of sorts; he’s not sure what’s more frightening—the fact they’re establishing a connection, or the realization that he enjoys it.

Shiro keeps his feelings, especially his fondness for Lotor, under lock and key. Just as he can’t allow himself to get too comfortable, expressing any affections he may have is equally unacceptable. If Shiro could figure out if anything they share is real, then perhaps he might find the courage he needs to be honest with Lotor. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t ever take that last step and put his trust in someone else, and it’s not even because of Lotor being who he is.

A short while later, the angle at which the sun shines into the room tells him it’s somewhere around late afternoon or early evening, and that Lotor should be back soon enough. Rolling over on his side, Shiro considers moving over to a sitting room near the foyer so he can greet Lotor when he arrives and make it look like he just happened to be there. The front door faces the west and there happens to be a comfy sofa perfect for sunbathing in the sunset in clear few of the door, and as Shiro’s not been shy about his inclination towards the sun, Lotor shouldn’t suspect any ulterior motives.

With a heavy sigh, Shiro pulls himself away from the window sill he’d been occupying and heads through the long hallways, intent on making his way downstairs. In a moment of light-heartedness, he muses that perhaps the most spectacular part of his acclimation into Lotor’s home is the fact he’s yet to get himself lost in this place. It’s not so much that Shiro has an exact idea of where he’s going, he can’t direct anyone to turn left by the portrait depicting Judas’ betrayal or to take the staircase near the oil painting portraying the fall of Babylon, simply because he gives no attention to direction, nor the objects that could prove useful in leading him, He doesn’t need the guidance—some inexplicable part of him just knows where to go and how to get back to Lotor.

This time, Shiro doesn’t make it that far.

He’s walking down the hall like he always does, putting one foot down in front of the other, following the internal compass that directs him to the foyer he can always count on Lotor to come in from after a long day’s work when out of nowhere, it hits him—a wave of raw anguish, the likes of which he's never known before—crashes into him, threatening to annihilate the delicate progress he's made in the past few months and leave him broken and without the resources necessary to repair himself.

By the time Shiro's able to process what's happening, it's too late--his body has already begun the most depraved form of metamorphosis imaginable, and Shiro is powerless to do anything except suffer until the very end. Falling to his knees in anguish, Shiro claws at the ground in a desperate attempt to take purchase in anything that might ease the pain by even a fraction. Try as he might, there isn't an eloquent way to describe the sensation of razor-sharp talons manifesting from his shoulder blades and crawling under his skin, slowly, pulling the underlying muscle tissue apart fiber by fiber, as if to draw the process out for as long as possible until the source settles on his upper back.

Shiro receives no warning when the torture he feels turns to molten lava running down his back, melting each defenseless cell in his body and eating its way to his spine, where the scalding magma infuses with his vertebrae and solidifies back into a substance hard enough to cut through diamond—it tears through Shiro’s weak flesh easier than how dried leaves crumble away in the wind, and cuts through the thin fabric of his shirt with even less resistance.

Somewhere along the way, Shiro registers his throat burning to the point he thinks he might be screaming, or a least that he had been—he can’t hear his own voice through the terrifying sound of his skin being pulled apart tissue by tissue as newly-formed bone forces its way out of his body, developing into Shiro’s worst nightmare. The entire process couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but to Shiro, countless eternities come and go before his very eyes as ghastly appendages continue to branch out and take shape from his back.

And just like that, the growth comes to an abrupt halt. A sinking feeling creeps up on Shiro, whispering in his ear that he knows what this is, it can’t be anything else. While Shiro can’t bring himself to look back, he catches a lilac-tinted glimpse of light waving in the corner of his eye, confirming his suspicions.

Ignoring the pain, Shiro fights his way into a standing position before breaking into a full-on sprint. His legs carry him as fast as they can—he has no idea where he's going, nor does he have a destination in mind. He just needs to hide, to get as far away as possible. His thought process on the subject is incoherent at best, but he can’t let Lotor see him like this.

No words (in his language or any human tongue he knows of) can even begin to describe the pandemonium that surrounds him in that instant, it threatens to tear him limb from limb and casts a shadow of irrationality over his better judgment to the point where he fails to realize the atrocities stemming from his back wouldn’t register on Lotor’s radar, that the runaway Prince of Hell has surely seen vulgarities far more heinous than him. In accordance with everything that’s already happened, the universe seems to push against Shiro more than it already has when his feet refuse to take him any further, landing him in the center of Lotor’s bedroom and rendering his efforts futile. If only to add insult to injury, Shiro finds himself in front of a full-length mirror, forcing him to look upon his own horrific reflection, where escaping his dark reality becomes impossible.

Fluttering behind him, a new pair of wings extend from his back, the mere sight of which leaves Shiro feeling sick and wishing he could disappear more than ever. Their violet hue taunts Shiro, the sound of feathers rustling against each other whispers to him, its soft voice reminding him that this is all his fault, that the choices he’s made have led to this, both the destruction of his wings and their infernal return. Instead of finding himself stricken with crippling remorse and being forced to recount the specific instances that led to this point, the urge to solve his personal crisis prevents an oncoming breakdown and allows him to focus.

There might be a solution, but as far as Shiro’s concerned, there’s only one way to get it done. Behind the gruesome image the mirror presents him with, something glistens in the background, an object he’d never noticed before. Forcing himself to turn around, Shiro spots the roaring hellfire burning in the fireplace, its flames licking the edge where the kindling comes to an end, as if waiting for the chance to break free from the hearth and devour everything in sight, and directly adjacent from the blazing embers, stands a demonic longsword.

Shiro doesn’t allow himself to think twice about it. He just goes, ignoring the pain stemming from his back as he staggers across the room, falling to his knees before the sword. The weapon remains propped up against the wall, passing itself off as a decoration with the blade glistening in the firelight, whispering sweet words and promising it can take care of everything, all Shiro has to do is gather enough courage to use it. A small part of him muses that right now, bravery has nothing to do with his actions, that necessity serves his one and only motivator. He tells himself that he doesn’t have a choice, not if he wants to keep the life Lotor’s handed to him—whether he cares to admit it or not, his innermost desires to stay with Lotor are what draws him forward, allowing him to wrap his hand around the hilt. A sense of calm washes over him as his fingers run over the worn fabric covering the handle, imagining how many times Lotor must have yielded the sword and wondering if this was the same weapon he used to fight his way out of Hell.

With a heavy sigh, Shiro closes his eyes and braces himself for the worse. Strangely enough, he realizes that for all the claims he’s made, he’s never once inflicted the pain himself. He’d simply welcomed whatever punishment befell him—or had at least planned to. Thinking back on it, Shiro knows he can’t, in good conscience, claim he’s received the kind of torture he originally set out for. Lotor may be the epitome of indulgence when it comes to satisfying his carnal desires, but he’s never touched Shiro in a way that’s made him wish he could recoil from Lotor’s ministrations or regret his initial decision to follow him home and subject himself to his will.

Even with the edge of the sword grazing against the base of his wing, Shiro knows that if Lotor were here, this would be on the list of things Lotor would never do. It doesn’t matter if he still holds reservations about Lotor or questions his true intentions, there’s a line, and for Lotor, this would be crossing it a hundred times over.

But Lotor isn’t here now—he can’t stop Shiro from giving himself the sort of punishment he should have had all along. His eyes fall shut, only to fly back open a second later—he has to literally see this through, he doesn't deserve anything less.

The sword (surprisingly enough) requires minimal effort to lift, almost like it was crafted for him personally; Shiro raises the blade high and angles it perfectly so that when he lets it fall, the sword will be in position to either sever his wing clean off or leave one hell of a nasty gash—depending upon how sharp the edge is. From how the blade glistens in the firelight, Shiro figures it'll finish the job in one strike, and now all he must do is let go.

Just as he's about to make the cut, the door swings open, and although Shiro doesn't dare look back, he knows who's standing in the threshold—the man who's simultaneously the last person on Earth he wants to see, yet he's the only one who stands a chance in saving him from himself. As always, Lotor is three steps ahead of him, his presence freezes Shiro in place and it’s over before he can even think to finish what he started. Lotor stands over him, his hands dripping with blood after latching onto the blade in what’s clearly a frantic attempt in stopping him.

And that’s when Shiro loses it. The sight of crimson covering the floor sends him into a frenzy and fuels his desire to fight. Why Lotor would go this far is beyond his comprehension, and he’s not about to wait and have a discussion over it, not when he’s so close.

“Stop!” If he’d had any semblance of composure left he’d have noticed the unholy mix of horror and desperation in Lotor's voice.

“No.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing in this world or the next that Lotor could say that would change his mind. “Let me do this.” Tightening his grip around the hilt, Shiro pulls away in an ultimately futile attempt in breaking free of the hold Lotor has on the blade. “Let go!” He tries to move again, only to see his efforts bear fruit in the form of slicing deeper into the palms of Lotor’s hands.

“They’ll keep growing back.” Lotor sounds like he’s trying to be reasonable, but all Shiro hears are increasingly despondent attempts at getting him to listen as Shiro’s struggling results in his grip on his blade visibly loosening. Unfortunately for Lotor, those exact words were the last thing he ever wanted to hear. Somewhere deep down, he might have known a solution wouldn’t be as simple as he makes it out to be, or even if there is a solution.

“Then I’ll keep cutting them off!” Shiro screams, using Lotor’s moment of weakness against him by twisting his body around and into him, using the full force his body provides him within pushing Lotor away with every last bit of strength he has left. Whether it’s an act of self-preservation or a result of shock, Shiro doesn’t know, but Lotor’s bloodied hands slip free of the sword, completely intact and without resistance as the impact of Shiro’s full-body punch sends him crashing into the nearest wall. The force with which his back hits the hard surface sends a harsh vibration through the plaster, and the collision makes Shiro wince from simply imagining the pain.

The guilt creeping up on him dissipates as quickly as it comes when he realizes how unfazed Lotor appears with his outburst, giving him the impression the wall took more damage than he did, but even Lotor’s apparent lack of reaction is enough to keep him from retrieving the sword and finishing the job while he has the chance. Ignoring the blade’s call, his gaze does not stray away from Lotor, if only to maintain certainty that Lotor really is unharmed, and not putting him through a facade.

“They’re hideous,” Shiro whispers after a few moments of silence pass, unable to say anything else that might explain himself or act as a meager form of apology.

Lotor retains the less than human pose he was thrown into and doesn’t rush back to stop him. Once the shock he can’t hide dissipates, Lotor peels himself away from the wall, brushing himself off like nothing had happened. “No, they’re not.” His reply is simple, and Shiro wants so much to believe him, even if he knows Lotor’s judgment on this situation is skewed at best, and downright biased at its worst.

Lotor approaches him once more, only this time the sense of urgency he’d held before is gone, almost like he’s waiting for Shiro to take advantage of the relaxed demeanor he gives him and strike while there’s still enough distance between them. Shiro is no stranger to how quick Lotor is, and he knows that if he acted now he could get away with severing at least one—but he can’t. The Demon sword he wields feels a thousand times heavier than it did only a few seconds ago, to the point where he can’t lift it anymore.

“You don’t understand.” His hand lets go of the sword, allowing it to fall to the ground with a ‘clang’. He still wants those atrocious things that protrude from his back and so cruelly remind him of his past misdeeds gone, but he no longer has the urge to fight Lotor. “My wings,” Shiro begins, unsure of what he could say that could possibly make someone who has never known divine grace understand him, but with Lotor, he needs to try. “They used to be as white as a cloud on a clear sunny day, and now they’re—”

“Even more beautiful,” Lotor interjects before Shiro can find a more fitting adjective for himself. “The color suits you well.”

Something comes over Shiro—suddenly his heart’s no longer racing at a speed that makes him fear it give out on him at any second, in fact, he can’t tell if it’s beating at all. “Because I’m a monster.”

That earns him a frown. “No, because you’re you.”

“I never wanted to become—” Shiro cuts himself off when he receives a particular glare from Lotor, one that all but dares him to finish his thought, “this,” he settles, gesturing to himself, as if he could ever make a half-angel understand.

Lotor’s expression grows pensive as he watches Shiro for a few moments, and once again Shiro’s reminded of the fact that after spending so much time with him, he’s not any closer to reading Lotor’s most indescribable expressions. “Perhaps this isn’t who you’ve become,” Lotor says after a moment, sounding as if he’s wondering aloud, rather than making a definitive statement.

“What if this is who you’ve always been, and you’ve just now reached your true form?” he clarifies only after Shiro doesn’t reply.

“What are you saying?” Shiro can’t tell if Lotor’s making a genuine effort to help him and failing spectacularly at it, or if he’s taken another approach. Shiro had always thought that if Lotor was going to turn on him, he’d wait until Shiro had become secure enough to trust him, but now, Shiro can’t help but wonder if Lotor had been waiting to strike in the lowest point in his existence.

“It’s not what you think.” Lotor’s voice gives him the impression he knows everything going through his mind, which if he’s being honest with himself, wouldn’t surprise him in the least. It’s infuriating at times, to think Lotor really does know everything, but at other times it’s a relief.

Without further explanation, Lotor sheds his coat; the garment doesn’t make it to the ground before his hands work on his shirt, unhooking each button with a lack of finesse and twice as quickly as their first time together, and discarding it with equal haste. Lotor’s eyes never once leave him, almost daring Shiro to look away before he sees something he can’t take back.

No words are exchanged between them, nor does Shiro avert his gaze. Shiro doesn’t know what’s coming, but it can’t be any worse than anything that’s already happened or what he’s tried to do. From the corner of his eye, he catches another glimpse of the demonic blade lying idle on the ground, but this time Shiro feels none of the previous panic that had consumed him only a short while ago.

Shiro stands there with his mouth agape for the longest time, his body frozen as his mind scrambles to process the sight of Lotor’s wings swaying behind him. On his right, a feathered wing that's as white as the first snowfall of winter, comprised of angel-soft wings Shiro used to be well-acquainted with. It's the picture-perfect image of everything Shiro remembers, yet oddly enough, feels no lingering sense of attachment for what he once had.

And on his left, the exact opposite—a jet back wing darker than the night sky just before the break of dawn extends proudly, the membrane connecting bone so thin it appears translucent, but Shiro knows from experience how strong the demon wing actually it is, covered in micro-spikes so sharp that a mere brush leaves the passerby covered in their own blood before they realize it.

Shiro wants to say something, he needs to break the silence and make his feelings known—the right words exist on the tip of his tongue, but still refuse to make themselves heard.

“I told you before, didn’t I?” Lotor asks, doing what Shiro can't as he steps towards him. “We’re not so different.”

“You’ve never said that verbatim.” That one comment does the trick in alleviating the room of tension, and suddenly Shiro doesn’t see the storm threatening to destroy the shambles of his life he’s worked so hard to piece back together. All he sees is Lotor—the one being in existence who understands him and sees past the manifestation of his previous transgressions that remain motionless behind him. Shiro’s not sure he’ll ever believe Lotor about his wings being ‘beautiful’ and he knows he’ll never agree, but Lotor’s persistence with him speaks volumes.

That earns him grin, as if pointing out Lotor’s inconsistencies with his speech has become a game with them. “Read between the lines, Shiro.”

By now, Lotor’s right in front of him, mere inches away and coming closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro knows where this is headed—he can feel it despite his lack of personal experience. Lotor gives him ample opportunity to pull away or stop him, but Shiro doesn’t move a muscle. He wants this, and while a part of him is still unsure of Lotor’s intentions, not a trace of fear runs through his veins. He doesn’t want to feel like this anymore, and with Lotor, he doesn’t have to.

Shiro feels like he’s been born anew when Lotor’s lips finally contact his. Lotor continues to be hesitant with him at first, testing the waters and treading into uncharted territory together. He’s not alone anymore, it feels good to remind himself, and know that when he wakes up the next day, and the day after that, Lotor will be there, accepting him for who he’s become, or perhaps as the creature he’s always been, Shiro isn’t sure what to believe just yet.

“What are you thinking?” If Lotor can read his mind, he makes a compelling case for the contrary when he asks questions like these, and right now, Shiro doesn’t have the heart to think Lotor might be doing this intentionally.

“Took you long enough.” Shiro doesn’t say anything more, preferring to let the kiss speak for itself.

“All in the name of romance,” Lotor quips easily in between kisses, his lips never leaving Shiro’s while he speaks.

“Right.” Shiro finds himself smiling into the kiss, in spite of himself. It's surreal to think that only a moment ago he was hell-bent on severing his new wings, welcoming whatever consequences he might incur as a result, but as his lips remain locked with Lotor's, that instance feels like a thousand lifetimes ago, and he cannot even begin to fathom what had been going through his mind.

But if Lotor thinks his wings beautiful, then maybe they're not as awful as he'd thought. Shiro’s thoughts don’t linger there for long, however, not when Lotor's touch makes him feel like he's standing directly beneath God's divine grace, only with Lotor it's so much more--his memories of life before his fall fade with each passing day, yet Shiro still recalls Heaven’s warmth, and he’ll never forget the burn of hellfire for as long as he lives--Lotor is the perfect combination of Heaven’s light and Hell’s flames, intense in his delivery while still maintaining an air of tenderness, giving Shiro everything he’s ever desired, even if he’s never admitted it before.

Lotor continues after their kiss is broken, peppering Shiro’s cheek in frantic kisses, leaving no patch of skin untouched before his lips trail along his jawline and make their way down to his neck. At the same time his hands work in the opposite direction, running up Shiro’s torso and scratching rounded nails along his flesh until he feels those same fingertips ghost over the fledgling wings that tremble uncontrollably against the wall.

“Does it hurt?” Lotor doesn’t need to explain himself.

“No,” Shiro lets out in a gasp. Shaky hands come up to settle in Lotor’s long locks, trying to keep him there, in that spot. He doesn’t know why he likes attention on his neck like this, but if Lotor’s willing to provide, then he’s well beyond the point of denying himself, nor does he oppose Lotor adding a little bite to his ministrations.

“Use your teeth,” Shiro lets out in a haggard breath, willing himself to pull back just enough to bare his neck properly.

“I like it,” Shiro offers only when Lotor comes back up to meet his gaze, silently questioning his choice. Through Lotor’s parted lips, his sharp fangs glisten with pristine, taunting him with how easily they can draw his blood. It wouldn’t take much, an accidental graze or the slightest application of pressure and Lotor’s teeth would be stained a brilliant shade of vermilion, all because of him.

Shiro doesn’t realize he’d licked his lips in anticipation until Lotor presses forward and initiates another kiss between them, this time allowing Shiro the opportunity to steal the lead, which Shiro takes full advantage of. For the time being, he forgets his request for blood as he loses himself to the high he gets from having Lotor this close. His lips move clumsily against Lotor’s, attempting to mimic the way Lotor had kissed him only moments before but never quite measuring up, he’s certain of it. Regardless, Shiro keeps kissing Lotor, relishing in the contact, his actions becoming increasingly frantic, almost like he’s got something to prove.

Lotor follows his every movement, his lips molding perfectly to his and giving Shiro the courage he needs to be a bit daring in rolling his tongue against Lotor’s lip; the hunger that grows steadily in the pit of his stomach begs him to explore as far as Lotor will allow him to go. Shiro seizes that opportunity the second he feels Lotor's parted lips against his, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and make contact with the knife-like teeth he's so enthralled with, but once again Lotor is one step ahead. His canines sink into the abused flesh of his lips, giving Shiro the taste of crimson he yearns for.

“Mm~” Shiro stands no chance in suppressing the desperate, wanton moan that flows from his lips, only to be devoured by Lotor’s relentless ministrations.

“What have I turned you into?” There's a teasing lilt in Lotor's voice as he continues his assault of harsh kisses and gentle nips, accompanied by an underlying softness that's impossible to miss.

“Nothing I didn’t want,” Shiro replies quickly, refusing to let Lotor’s mind have even a second to wander. Lotor pauses for a moment, standing back up at full height and looking down at him, his eyes searching for any sign Shiro might be lying. Shiro has nothing to hide and stares right back at him, proving his resolve.

If he hadn't realized it before, the truth of his reality stares him plainly in the face-he’s in way too deep with Lotor, and now, the last thing he wants to do is claw his way out.

“In that case,” in lieu of finishing that thought, Lotor brings his hands up to Shiro’s chest and pushes him back, the force he exerts is accompanied with a certain amount of softness, as if Lotor still holds reservations over hurting him in a way he’s not asking for, and this time, the realization brings a smile to his face. Shiro fills in the blanks for himself as Lotor steals away the remaining space between them until he has Shiro firmly pressed up against the wall. Again, Lotor’s lips find his and pick up where they’d left off only seconds before, the resulting kiss threatening to steal his soul away.

Shiro can’t help the soft gasp of air that passes through his lips when Lotor breaks their kiss and moves down to his chin, the butterfly kisses he peppers along his jawline soon become sharper when Lotor finally indulges him in his earlier wish and begins to incorporate his teeth into the mixture, the sharp edges graze along his sensitive skin and always remain shy of making him bleed, or so he thinks.

A sound, a low, desperate noise Shiro can only describe as a moan, but hardly recognizes as his own voice escapes his throat when Lotor sinks his teeth into his tender flesh, giving him that edge he craves. His body tenses on sheer instinct, however, he’s pleased when Lotor carries on, his tongue darting out to lap up the blood he’s spilled before moving down his neck, covering the pale skin Shiro offers up to him in kisses laced with quick nips that Shiro can’t get enough of.

Shaky hands act on their own accord, taking purchase in soft locks of snow-white hair as he opens himself up completely and lets his fears and doubts go to the wayside while soft sounds of pleasure continue to fall freely from his lips, which only seem to encourage Lotor further. As his lips travel across his collarbone, Lotor’s curious hands begin their own journey, razor-sharp fingernails extend themselves over the hypersensitive flesh of his nipples, only needing to brush against the skin before small droplets of crimson bead up over the erect nubs. The blood doesn't get the chance to drip down his torso before Lotor's tongue licks the warm fluid away, and his lips seal themselves to the delicate tissue, taking the edge off the damage he’s inflicted and sending an entirely new wave of pleasure flowing through his being.

Yet another soft, nearly inaudible moan passes through his lips as Shiro finds himself arching into Lotor’s touch, desperate to increase the contact between them in any way possible-a gesture which Lotor appears more than happy to comply with.

It’s not fair, Shiro thinks, for someone like Lotor to be capable of such gentle care, but here he is, on the receiving end of Lotor's tender touches, ready and willing to do anything for more. With another kiss to each hardened nub, Lotor presses on, his wicked lips continue down his chest and ignite a raging inferno on each patch of previously untouched skin.

Shiro cries out pure, unbridled ecstasy when Lotor gives him what he needs before he can think to ask—Lotor’s razor-sharp teeth sink into his burning flesh, extracting fresh blood and leaving sanguine lacerations in their wake—all of which he can't get enough of. The primary sensations of agony that invade and infuse with each individual cell in his body gradually evolve into the raw euphoria he knows Lotor has every intention of delivering.

Lotor's tongue is every bit as duplicitous as his teeth in the way it licks up every droplet of blood his teeth produce the exact second it beads up upon his skin. Shiro can't help but feel a certain amount of greed driving Lotor's ministrations, like he's set on taking everything Shiro has to offer before someone else gets the chance or is compelled by a voracious thirst, the likes of which only Shiro can satisfy. He's never felt so desirable before in his life—and the realization that Lotor is nowhere near satisfied only makes him that much hotter.

As Lotor makes his way down Shiro’s torso, coloring every new patch of skin his impish lips touch red, with blood or darkened shades of blue and purple, his previously idle hands come into play, trailing up Shiro’s calves and making him feel like his legs could give out from underneath him at any given moment until they settle on his inner thighs. The skin underneath blunt fingertips quivers uncontrollably as those sharp claws Shiro has become all-too-familiar with extend out, digging into his sensitive flesh and drawing even more blood. Just like before, Lotor licks away every drop he spills before covering his abused flesh with sweet, butterfly kisses as if they’re meant as a silent apology before he finally gives Shiro a taste of the relief he needs.

It’s a simple action that has no right in bestowing Shiro with this level of sweet, unadulterated ecstasy, then again, the only set of rules Lotor plays by is his own, and he’s far from finished. In a fleeting moment of clarity, the trace of wicked intent flashing through Lotor’s eyes is the only warning Shiro gets before Lotor gives him attention where he needs it most. Pressing his skilled tone flat against the base of his aching erection, Lotor licks up along the underside of his cock, his pace excruciatingly slow, as if to savor Shiro’s essence in its most natural form. After what feels like an eternity and a half, Lotor reaches the tip and doesn’t hesitate in lapping away the first droplets of precum, robbing them of the chance to drip down his length before taking his ministrations a step further and going down on him.

Hollowing his cheeks, Lotor swallows him whole with practiced ease, once again making his actions appear effortless. It's not just the fact that Lotor is good at what he does, it's the way he exerts himself, like he’s out to satisfy the burning urge to impress Shiro, as if he’s worth showing off for.

While Shiro hasn’t the faintest idea of what’s to come, his body certainly does. Just as it’s done countless times before under Lotor’s touch, Shiro has no control over the way his legs spread apart with a mere caress of lube-covered fingertips against his thigh.

But Lotor doesn’t go that far. His hand falls to the side as he lets go of Shiro’s cock with a lewd ‘pop’, pulling back and looking up at him--with lust clouding his judgment, Shiro can’t identify the emotion swimming in Lotor’s gaze.

“Do you wish for me to continue?” Lotor asks, his warm breath ghosting over Shiro’s arousal, but remains shy of giving Shiro the contact he so desperately needs.

“Please,” is the only reply Shiro manages with some form of coherency.

With a brief nod, Lotor resumes his earlier ministrations, kissing alongside the length of his cock as his slick hand slips in between his legs, coaxing his thighs apart with a certain tenderness that makes Shiro feel safe and cared for, while simultaneously moving with devilish intent, giving Shiro a small taste of what's to come.

The sensation, while unlike anything Shiro’s ever felt before, hardly registers in terms of pain or discomfort. He can't put an exact label on it, however, the awkwardness he feels, as a result, dissipates into nothingness the second Lotor's fingertip brushes against a certain spot within him, one that sends sparks of white-hot bliss vibrating up his spine, spiraling out of control and stimulating every nerve in his corporeal being. Shiro's never felt like he's had any semblance of control over his body or how it reacts to each unique touch Lotor bestows upon him, however the truth in that notion hasn't been any more apparent until now, where Lotor has him in a position that allows him to give Shiro pleasures previously untold without restraint.

“More.” Shiro hardly recognizes his own voice as that one word echoes through his ears, giving Lotor explicit permission to do everything he wants.

Rather than take advantage of the consent Shiro grants him, Lotor pulls away completely, leaving Shiro hot and not anywhere close to being satisfied.

“Why?”

“Why?” Shiro repeats the question, unable to piece together the meaning behind the worry flickering in Lotor’s eyes through his lustful haze.

Lotor doesn’t elaborate, but it only takes a few seconds for Shiro to realize what he’s asking for. After everything he’s put Lotor through, Shiro can’t say he blames him. Lotor has every right in the world to question the validity of their actions, he’s certain he’d ask the same if the tables were turned.

“I want to be close to you.” Shiro’s not sure how else he can explain himself. He’s too far gone to insist he no longer wishes to use Lotor for his own personal form of torture, but his small confession, as meager as it is, seems to be just enough for Lotor to understand him.

“Shiro,” Lotor lets out through a low, guttural moan—it’s a tone Shiro desperately tries to commit to memory. He’s never heard Lotor sound quite this lost before, so he relishes the moment while he can, taking a bit of pride in what he's done. The chains of doubt that seem to hold Lotor back disappear in that instant, like an invisible weight has been lifted from his shoulders and with nothing holding him back, Lotor stands back up to full height and reaches out to Shiro, cupping his cheek and running his thumb over Shiro’s bottom lip. There’s a certain glow dancing in Lotor’s eyes, one Shiro can’t quite place, yet his desire couldn’t be any more transparent as he leans in for another kiss, stealing Shiro’s breath away as if it belongs to him.

“Lotor,” Shiro answers in between their kiss, trying to express the emotions he can’t bring himself to say out loud, and that’s as far as their exchange goes. There is no one word that can adequately describe the whirlwind of sensations that engulf and make him forget who he is. With Lotor consuming his every thought, Shiro can't remember why he's here or why he'd been so afraid earlier—he can still feel his wings twitch uselessly against the wall, yet their existence has no effect on him. Lotor's touch becomes a drug presenting him with a high so mind-bendingly euphoric that Shiro isn't sure he possesses enough strength to come back after the inevitable crash and burn his future holds as in store once Lotor cuts him off.

Thoughts of what’s to come are fleeting as powerful hands slide down Shiro’s torso and find their way to Shiro’s thighs—skilled fingers caress the skin, making him quiver in need as those same hands move behind and hook themselves around his legs, lifting him up and guiding them to secure themselves around Lotor’s waist. Lotor doesn't say anything, but Shiro sees it in his eyes, even now he’s uncertain, scared of pushing Shiro beyond his limits and crossing into an uncharted territory neither of them is prepared for.

There’s nothing Shiro could say that his actions couldn’t express a thousand times better—shaky hands intertwine themselves into Lotor’s long, satin hair and pull him forward, allowing Shiro to press his lips to Lotor’s, attempting to convey everything left unsaid—he wants this, he wants Lotor, and nothing is going to change his decision. Lotor’s lips follow his guidance as he positions himself under Shiro; a less than dignified moan escapes his lips when the leaking head of Lotor’s cock touches his entrance, where again his body demonstrates how impatient it can really be in acting on its own, using the hold he has on Lotor’s shoulders as leverage to push down and take in Lotor’s cock. As if the pulsating heat Shiro feels from Lotor isn’t enough to prove how badly Lotor needs him, the way Lotor indulges him without the mildest of taunting beforehand says it all. Lotor cooperates fully by pushing further into him, only stopping when a strangled moan rips itself from the bottom of Shiro’s throat. The fire steadily burning within him erupts into a raging inferno and sets every nerve in his body aflame, reducing his entire thought process to little more than a single repetitive phrase that drives his desire well beyond the point of no return.

More! More! Need more!

“I can—” The strain Lotor’s voice that destroys the composure he normally maintains gratifies Shiro almost as much as the physical pleasure he gets from Lotor’s dick. “I can stop.”

If all semblance of rational thought hadn’t eluded him long before this point, Shiro might be capable of understanding what Lotor is trying to say, that even at this point he keeps Shiro’s well-being in the forefront of his mind and does everything within his power to ensure himself of Shiro’s desire.

“Don’t you dare.” Shiro’s reply comes out in the form of a growl—he barely recognizes his own voice, but at this point, he’s well beyond the point of trying to contain himself. As if he thinks Lotor might not listen, his legs tighten around Lotor’s hips, wordlessly declaring that if Lotor wants to take this away from him, he’s going to have to remove Shiro with force.

“I won’t.” The sigh of relief he takes is cut short when Lotor seals his promise with a kiss, rekindling their passion as he pulls back a bit, delivering a shallow, tentative thrust, testing Shiro’s tolerance without him demanding for it.

Shiro’s done for, falling apart piece by piece under Lotor’s powerful, yet affectionate care, losing a little more of his sanity with each powerful thrust until he can’t take it anymore. If the euphoric sounds that spill freely from his lips aren’t making that obvious, then his wings certainly give him away with the way they spasm and shake in perfect unison with his body. Curious hands wander over Lotor’s shoulders and dare to reach out and caress the nearest wing. His trembling fingertips brush over ruffled Angel feathers far softer than he remembers. Even blissed out of his mind, Shiro can’t help but think the delicate texture suits him—deceptively soft and graceful, keeping the unrefined power Shiro knows that wing possesses concealed within an elegant bone structure. Rather than serving as a foil to its obsidian companion, the visual manifestation of Lotor’s lineage blends together and serves as the perfect representation of who Lotor is—not an Angel, nor a Demon, but a unique, breath-taking creature all his own, one that transcends any reference to mixed blood, much like himself.

Through his cloudy gaze, he finds Lotor looking right back at him, his eyes every bit as glazed over as his must be, yet he can still see the uncertainty flickering in Lotor’s sapphire depths, the beginnings of a question that desperately needs an answer, yet he knows Lotor struggles to ask, which is just as well when he is incapable of a response.

The spoken word may be out of their reach, but their communication remains alive and well, and knowing what they both need, Shiro uses the leverage he has with his arms wrapped around Lotor’s neck and pulls him closer, their lips clashing together in a haphazard kiss that conveys everything left unsaid between them. It’s chaotic, jarring, and an all-around mess—Shiro can hardly tell the difference between his and Lotor’s lips and tongues as they move together in complete asynchrony, bearing their souls to each other until nothing is left unsaid.

Crashing his lips to Shiro's, Lotor inhales the scream that rips itself from Shiro's throat, taking his only method for articulating himself as he comes with Lotor's cock as his sole stimulus. He keeps thrusting down on Lotor, tightening himself around his dick like he wants to keep it inside forever as Lotor meets every movement like his life depends on it until at long last his hips come to an abrupt halt and Shiro feels him coat his inner walls in his seed. Their kiss muffles the moan that erupts from the bottom of Lotor's throat as they ride out their orgasms together, until the hard, erratic pace they keep gradually eases into a gentler, rhythmic motion—their lips following suit as the kiss he and Lotor share devolves into little more than soft caresses.

His place between Lotor and the wall prevents him from falling to the floor in a boneless puddle when Lotor loosens his hold on him and lets his feet touch the floor. Knowing he’ll lose what little support he has once Lotor lets go, Shiro reaches out to him, latching onto his blades and watching large, questioning eyes as a small, yet genuine smile appears on Lotor’s lips. In lieu of an explanation, Lotor leans into him, brushing their noses together as if to tell Shiro he's going to be okay, before pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“Brace yourself,” Lotor warns Shiro, his voice low, still full of arousal, as for the second time that night, his Prince lowers himself to his knees before him, keeping a firm hold on Shiro’s thighs, keeping Shiro upright as he leans in, getting impossibly close.

Shiro nearly misses Lotor’s warning as he slowly calms down from the euphoria, and Lotor’s intentions elude him until he feels Lotor’s talented tongue pressing against his entrance, lapping up the remnants of his come that have already begun to trickle out.

“Ahh,” Shiro lets out in a soft gasp, willing himself to keep still and let Lotor work his magic in cleaning him out. Lotor treats his own essence like he does Shiro’s blood, drinking in everything he can while taking supreme care in not letting a drop slip past his hungry lips. His tongue continues in what Shiro suspects might be a never-ending mission in bringing him pleasure in ways he can't imagine until he's already subject to Lotor's touch, and in this case, has his tongue eating him out and prolonging his pleasure for a few more blissful moments.

“Lotor,” his voice is little more than a whimper as he calls Lotor's name after he pulls away from him, leaving him empty and unprepared for the loss—eliciting a frustrated groan from his lips. His inner muscles instinctively clamp down on nothing as his lusty gaze falls back on Lotor, taking notice of the peculiar way Lotor keeps his jaw closed as he stands back up, his hands sliding up to take hold of Shiro’s hips and keep him secured to the wall.

Shiro can’t bring himself to ask, not out of shame or embarrassment that still clings to his soul, but simply because Lotor’s meticulous methods have left him a dysfunctional wreck, starved and desperate for attention, yet unable to do anything about it. Luckily, his lack of capability makes no difference—Lotor is quick to give him exactly what he wants without drawing it out any further, all but smashing his lips to his, giving Shiro the taste he’s been looking for. Again, that devilish tongue runs along his bottom lip, gently persuading Shiro to part his lips and savor Lotor’s essence in its purest form. He doesn’t recognize what he’s doing until he feels his hands tangling themselves into Lotor’s hair and pulling him closer; it’s his turn to relish and exercise his own (neglected) penchant for avarice and devour everything Lotor gives him like he needs it more than the air he breathes. The kiss ends only when there's nothing left to swallow, giving them both the chance to breathe and calm down from their mind-numbing sex.

“You cannot be comfortable like this.” Lotor’s voice comes in the form of a mumble as he wraps his arms around Shiro’s frame, securing his hold on him before pulling him away from the wall. It’s only when Lotor carries him across the room and lies him prone on the mattress that he realizes Lotor must be referring to the way his wings had been smashed up against the wall only moments before.

When he regains his composure and his high really starts to wear off, Shiro assesses the damage, only to come up short--a dull ache resides in his lower regions and he still feels like his limbs will remain unsupportive and useless in the foreseeable future, but there’s nothing he’d label as ‘painful’. Even the raw anguish he’d felt during their formation seems like a far-off memory as deft fingers alternate between attending to the sensitive flesh on his back and his newly-formed wing, putting the utmost care into every touch.

“I’m fine,” Shiro speaks up after a while, relaxing under Lotor’s skilled hands. “Exhausted, but that’s nothing rest won’t remedy.”

At this point, Shiro doesn’t possess the strength to turn around, but nevertheless, he feels an affectionate grin grace Lotor’s lips while he presses them into his skin, continuing his tender treatment of Shiro’s back and wings. While Lotor makes no reply, his actions tell Shiro everything he needs to hear and provide him with a sense of serenity he hasn’t felt in a long time. As simple as it is, Lotor makes Shiro feel at ease with himself, like he can move on from this and look for tomorrow.

It’s a notion Shiro clings to with a vice grip, however, if it’s because it’s his only option, or the choice he wants to believe in, he’s not so sure anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

At first, Shiro hardly recognizes it.

The sensation manifests itself as little more than a tingle, a sudden chill completely unwarranted after he’s spent the afternoon reading in a window seat, experiencing the region’s arid climate from inside, the closest he thinks he’ll ever get. He’s still not too keen on going outside, but Shiro finds that he rather enjoys taking in the indirect warmth sunlight provides him as those merciless rays pour in through the window.

Turning away from the window, Shiro thinks to move elsewhere. He doesn’t know what’s coming or why he feels so anxious, but he’s certain that he also doesn’t need any details, he wants no part of it.

His suspicions only worsen when that small, dismissible feeling turns into a full-body shudder, turning his fears into reality, one he’d rather come to grips with on his own, terms without involving any unnecessary parties if he can help it.

Whether he likes it or not, he knows a certain someone, in particular, will include himself in the matter if it’s not rectified before he gets the chance to do anything, which Shiro simply will not allow. This is his battle, and no one else’s. Shiro can't bring himself to acknowledge it, it isn't a vestigial sense of pride that fuels his decision—he’s not concerned about Lotor taking care of the situation in his stead (if given the opportunity Shiro knows Lotor would not stand by) but the gut-wrenching feeling that Lotor may find himself up against a force too great for him to handle is something Shiro won’t let become reality.

The resolve that comes with the need to keep Lotor out of his personal affairs gives him enough incentive to step outside for the first time since the night of his arrival when Lotor had brought him home and their relationship (as confusing as it is to him) began. Shiro hardly registers the vast difference in temperature once he's outside—direct or not, sunlight pales in comparison to God's grace, and Shiro's found that even divinity is no match to the seductive burn Lotor so willingly provides.

Closing his eyes, Shiro lets out a heavy sigh, forcing himself to clear his mind and focus—he’d woken up the next morning after getting his wings back only to find them gone, and after the less than blessed fashion in which they'd appeared, he's not exactly eager to see them again. But this isn't about staying within his comfort zone, and he knows better than anyone that not everyone gets what they want.

Shiro can feel the warm summer breeze caress his face, but he can't hear a sound. There's no 'ting’ of a nearby wind chime, nor the dull buzz of a plane overhead in the distance, not even the soft song of a bird breaks the silence he surrounds himself with as he concentrates, not on his wings, but on what he needs to accomplish with them, and who he needs to protect.

This time when his wings appear, he isn't forced to relive the insufferable torment of bone tearing through flesh as they burst forth from his body and manifest themselves in the most agonizing and nightmarish way imaginable—they appear by sheer will alone, like they’d done so many times before, stemming through his shirt and keeping the clothing perfectly intact. Shiro can’t bring himself to look back, but he knows nothing has changed—his wings still bear a brilliant shade of lavender, rather than the snow-white he’d been born with.

Right now, Shiro’s opinion on the matter holds no relevance, he needs them to get out of here—if he doesn’t come to them, the celestial being that sets off his internal alarms will come to him. With that in mind, Shiro spreads his wings and takes flight.

Shiro finds the source in the exact location he’d fallen—in the middle of the desert, well off the beaten path where no one in their right mind would travel amid the scorching heat. Even if he couldn’t see back then, Shiro can feel it, that this is the spot. It’s a small patch of land entirely void of life—no cacti nor shrubbery take root within the circular area, and likewise the small creatures that scurry about before burrowing back into the sand in hopes of escaping the sun seem to avoid stepping foot into this area. Even the air appears lifeless within the confines, as if it’s sealed off by an invisible barrier only Shiro has access to—once his feet, the faint breeze his wings create dies down, once he wills them to disappear, leaving him in total silence.

Before Shiro’s given the chance to doubt his intuition and wonder whether he’s made a miscalculation in determining the source of the otherworldly presence, a ray of rose-colored light shines down upon the center of the barren landmark that denotes Shiro’s fall, several feet from where Shiro stands, his arms tightly over his chest as he waits. He knows who it is even before the Angel appears--her aura smells of fresh jasmine after a spring shower--he’d recognize it anywhere. She appears before him seconds later, her soft alabaster hair shimmers in the sunlight as her wings of the same shade disappear behind her once her bare feet make contact with sand and clad in the traditional ivory robes that accentuate her slender frame while still appearing at least two sizes too large. He remembers the heartfelt emotions he used to feel in her presence: happiness, comfort, serenity, all wrapped up in unyielding warmth and sunshine, but that was when he considered her his nearest and dearest friend. Now, her companionship leaves him feeling hollow, save for the seedlings of resentment that take root within the bottom of his heart.

“Allura.” Shiro manages a cordial enough voice, one that masks his displeasure, but he doubts he can say the same for his facial expression, especially when he can feel the bitter way in which his brows knit together as she continues to approach him.

“Shiro,” Allura’s smile is warm and violet specks of light flicker brightly in her cerulean eyes, just like he remembers, “It’s good to see you.” He wants to believe her, her voice holds nothing but the same kindness she was always known for, and for the briefest of seconds, it makes Shiro forget the turmoil surrounding him.

“I wish I could return the sentiment.” Shiro knows exactly how long since they’ve seen each other, but he can hardly recall what their last exchange had entailed. He doesn’t even know whether the conversation was business-related, or something friendlier, he only knows that Allura hadn’t been there to witness his exile, per his request. He didn’t want her to witness the lowest point in his life, much like he wishes she couldn’t see him now. “What are you doing here?”

To the untrained eye, Allura maintains her cheery disposition, but Shiro’s not just anyone. He’s known her for far too long, and he can see the subtle falter in her smile. Clearly, she’d hoped for a warmer welcome—Shiro’s almost sorry he can’t give it to her.

“I came to see—”

“You shouldn’t have,” Shiro interjects before she can finish the thought he doesn’t want to hear. It’s not that he holds any ill-will towards Allura, after all, she’s the one person who’d had his back in a trial that had been otherwise rigged against him. This time, her smile fades away completely, and Shiro’s heart sinks along with it. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he’s not doing this out of bitterness.

Shiro considers himself lucky. He’s found Lotor, but Allura might not be so fortunate if the same fate were to befall her, and Shiro knows all too well how slippery the slope that deviates from righteousness is, he can already see Allura toeing that invisible edge.

“You need to get back before anyone realizes you’ve come here.” Shiro’s voice is stern, as if he’s still a commanding officer reprehending his cadet in a careful, constructive fashion.

“Actually,” Allura begins, albeit hesitantly this time, as if she’s choosing her words more carefully to avoid Shiro’s wrath. “I’m here on His behalf.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “He wants you to come home, Shiro.”

Shiro tries to keep calm and not give himself away, but that gives him pause. If nothing else, Shiro takes comfort in the fact that Allura hasn’t gone rogue, he isn’t sure he’d be able to save her if the situation were any different. His relief is short-lived when he realizes what Allura’s just told him, and more importantly, how those words were chosen with purpose. They diminish the severity of his circumstance.

“Don’t make it sound as if I’m some kind of rebel who’s left on their own accord,” Shiro scoffs, turning away to look at the horizon beyond. By now, the sun is well into its slow descent from the sky, just barely dipping below the horizon. He can’t help but wonder if Lotor’s made it home yet, and what he’ll do when he realizes he’s no there.

“If you’ll remember, I was forced out.” The smallest pang of guilt hits when Allura cringes at his tone.

“Mistakes have been made.” If Allura thinks he’s missed Allura’s exclusion of whom was at fault, she’s gravely mistaken, but Shiro’s kind enough to not point it out, “But we’re hoping to get past this.”

“All of us,” Allura clarifies after a short pause.

Shiro doesn’t respond at first. He knows Allura’s trying to get through to him, that she truly believes this is the exact moment he’s been waiting for, but she couldn’t be more wrong. Not once has he ever considered going back. There’s no denying his plans have changed (Lotor’s seen to that), but to think he’d turn away from Lotor, after everything they’ve been through, after Lotor’s gone above and beyond for him, broken away from the legend bound to his very existence, is unthinkable. Shiro’s always been loyal to a fault, but he will no longer serve an all-powerful entity who turned him away at his most vulnerable point.

He thinks to turn away and leave without another word. As far as he’s concerned, their conversation is over. Shiro takes no interest in any sort of pardon for his transgressions, and he certainly has no desire to be welcomed back by the many who’d thrown him into exile in the first place. He’s happy here, Lotor’s companionship gives him a sense of companionship and belonging he’d never known before, and God himself can’t make him give that up.

Despite his resolve, he finds himself looking back at Allura, her eyes full of hope, making Shiro realize that if nothing else, she’s been honest the entire time. Allura misses him, and while he doesn’t believe everyone wants him back, she does. Letting out a soft sigh, he goes against his gut instincts and decides to hear her out.

“Why now?” Shiro asks, giving Allura the chance to explain herself, if nothing else.

“Excuse me?” Allura blinks, as if she doesn’t understand what Shiro’s asking. Perhaps there’d been a time where her explanation would have been good enough, but that time has come and gone. Now, he wants answers.

“I know time doesn’t mean anything up there, but here it does--it’s been months.” The better part of a year, a voice that sounds just like Lotor’s echoes in the back of his mind. It’s not all that surprising, not when Lotor was the one to mention their upcoming ‘anniversary’ only yesterday. For a brief second, he forgets Allura’s presence as the softest of smiles graces his lips. It’s not that he holds a fondness for that fateful night, but rather, it’s the excitement of being with Lotor for a period of time that holds a certain amount of significance he takes joy in. Years, decades, and beyond have no real value, he realizes that, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.

He spots Allura shifting uncomfortably in the corner of his eye, the sight does the trick in bringing him back to the conversation at hand, and his lips form a thin line across his face, putting his expressionless mask back in place. “Has He decided I’ve been in time out for long enough?” Shiro’s voice is tinged with far more bitterness than he intends, but he doesn’t bother to apologize for it.

“Not exactly,” Allura admits, averting her gaze to the ground.

Shiro frowns. “Well then?”

A pensive look covers her face, and again Allura looks as if she’s taking the utmost care in choosing her words, because that worked well last time, he can’t help but think.

“He’s decided how you can earn your way back.” Shiro can tell how hard Allura’s trying to keep a sense of diplomacy between them, and Shiro nearly laments making it so difficult for her. Shiro admits that He did well in sending Allura for him. Shiro surely would have left by now if anyone else had come for him.

“Save it.” Shiro shakes his head. “Whatever the task is, I won’t be a part of it.”

He wishes Allura would simply let him be. He shouldn’t need to justify his choices, in fact, he won’t. Neither, Allura, nor anyone else, has the right to take charge of his life after what he’s done to put the pieces back together.

“Shiro, I don’t think you understand that this is your chance to get back into Heaven,” Allura tries again, but Shiro’s well beyond the point of discussing this further.

“I understand perfectly,” he nearly growls, “you’re quick to tell me that this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for,” Shiro wants to add a snarky line about how presumptuous Allura is to think she still knows him well enough to insinuate this, but he manages to keep himself in check, “but what you’ve failed to mention is the small caveat that I will be expected to apologize and make amends for my transgression, in addition to completing His mission.”

“Shiro, if you could just let go of your pride—”

“Pride? Me?” Shiro feels a tinge of regret for continually interrupting Allura like this, but the need to correct her is far more pressing than his penchant for good manners. “I will always be the first to admit when I’m wrong.” A sigh escapes Shiro’s lips. He knows that despite his best efforts, he’s not getting through to her. “I’ve changed in a lot of ways since my fall, but that’s something that’ll never change.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m not wrong!” Shiro exclaims, any shred of remorse he feels for interrupting after so many times disappears then and there. He’d known it was hopeless from the start, but even so, he’d always hoped that there was a small part of Allura that had understood him, and perhaps even agreed with him, but it’s clear now that won’t happen.

“There’s something else I haven’t told you,” Allura tries once more, she sounds defeated and uncertain, not that Shiro blames her.

As many times as Shiro’s cut Allura off this evening, he feels compelled to at least hear her out, of course, he can’t promise he won’t do it again, but he’ll try. “And that is?”

“He’s not offering you a choice.” Allura’s statement is simple in its delivery yet is still the ominous intent of a threat.

“Excuse me?” Shiro inquires, already knowing what Allura’s going to say. He’s not too keen on asking questions he doesn’t need to ask, but he’s not leaving anything up to interpretation. Shiro wants exact details, and to know exactly what he’s up against.

Allura lets out a sigh. “We can’t allow the Prince of Hell to continue his existence on Earth.”

“Why is this an issue now?” “He didn’t just pop up a few days ago, this has been going on for a while.” Shiro realizes then he doesn’t have an exact timeframe, but he can only assume the life Lotor’s made for himself couldn’t have come to fruition overnight.

“You know the answer as well as I do. We only know what He wants us to know.” Allura goes quiet for a moment; a certain look in her eyes tells Shiro she has something else to say, but it takes a bit for her to speak up again. “We only recently discovered his whereabouts,” Allura replies quietly as if it’s some shameful secret she’s supposed to keep under wraps, one that a mere utterance could get her in a world of trouble for, which Shiro knows to be the truth. Allura may have been sent here to give him this offer, but she’s taken their conversation in a direction that’s beyond the scope of her mission, he doesn’t have to ask, Shiro can see it in her eyes.

Allura’s personal form of defiance might have given him cause for concern if her explanation hadn’t sparked a far more devastating realization.

“Because of me.” It’s not a question, however, he is demanding confirmation.

“Shiro, it’s okay. We’ll get through this.” Allura’s voice is gentle as she reaches out to him in an obvious attempt to comfort him.

“It’s not.” This time, Shiro turns away from Allura, keeping her at arm’s length, missing the look of despair that flickers through her eyes as her hand falls to her side.

Shiro doesn’t think there’s any amount of explanation he could give that would make her understand.

“I won’t do it.” Shiro declares, turning back to Allura, his gaze full of unwavering conviction. “My decision is final.”

“Shiro, think about what you’re saying. The Prince--”

“Lotor,” Shiro cut in once more. “Lotor. His name is Lotor.” Referring to Lotor by name gives him a sense of power “Lotor,” Shiro repeats, if only to make his stance abundantly clear, “has no desire to rule over Hell, nor take orders from his father anymore.” “Neither do I.”

When Allura doesn’t reply, Shiro decides he has nothing left to say and turns his back to her once more, this time for good. With a heavy sigh, Shiro lets go of the self-imposed shame that’s been holding him back. He’s nowhere to be seen, but Shiro hears Lotor’s soft, reassuring voice in the back of his mind, reinstating every ounce of confidence he had before the fall, and dissolving the last trace of hesitancy that until now lingered in the back of his mind and kept him grounded longer than he cares to admit.

When the shackles of regret and anger fall away, freedom and validation take their place, filling the emptiness in his soul and making him lighter than air, and with his own form of vindication in place, Shiro no longer holds back. Feeling alive and unrestrained in every sense of the word, Shiro lets his wings out, extending to their full potential, and for the first time since their return, he feels complete, like this is who he is, and he doesn’t ever want to go back.

“What do you think?” Shiro asks, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a faint smirk.

“You’ll earn your wings back as well, Shiro, please.” Allura pleads, her voice is drenched in desperation, and Shiro can’t help but wonder whether her words hold any truth. He’s never known Allura to lie, but then again, he’s never put her in this sort of predicament before either. Angels are far from perfect beings, all they need is the right temptation to serve as the catalyst that brings about their downfall—Shiro would know.

“Things can go back to the way they once were,” Allura tries one last time, but just like every other attempt, her pleas fall on deaf ears.

Shiro can’t help it anymore, he laughs, a full, hearty laughter that bubbles up from the bottom of his diaphragm and spreads throughout his body. “No thanks,” he responds when he’s able to calm himself enough to speak.

“And by the way,” Shiro spares Allura one last glance. He’s aware that this may be the last time he sees her under cordial terms, but the realization doesn’t sway his stance in the slightest. “I like them like this.” Again, Lotor’s soft, yet confident voice rings through his mind. “He,” Shiro pauses, a soft smile plays upon his lips as he specifies, “Lotor tells me they’re beautiful.”

And with that, Shiro takes off, his wings flapping gracefully in the wind, emancipated and ready to live his life the way he wants to, answering to no one and reveling in his newfound independence.

* * *

 

Shiro finds Lotor waiting for him on the balcony well after dark. He’s long since lost track of time and has no idea how long Lotor’s been waiting for him and seeing Lotor still dressed in the same business attire he’d left in this morning doesn’t give any indication of time either. Lotor surely knew of Shiro’s disappearance even before his arrival, and if he’s even half as distraught as he appears, one of the last things on his mind would be a change of clothes.

Lotor is livid. There’s no way to sugarcoat or go around it. A small part of Shiro had always wondered how Lotor would react if he were to take off, only now he gets to see his response first-hand.

A truly terrifying combination of unbridled fury and pure sadness flickers through Lotor’s eyes, and Shiro’s not sure whether he’s more alarmed with how Lotor feels, or by the fact that he can so clearly see the hurt flashing through his eyes in a rare moment of vulnerability. Shiro likes to think he’s gotten better at reading Lotor with time, but it hasn’t gotten any easier for him. His improvement stems solely from persistence and the desire to understand him.

His wings flutter in the cool breeze as his feet touch the ground, only to disappear seconds after. Shiro fights the instinct to approach, at least at first. With Lotor’s arms crossed over his chest and a scowl that takes the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ a little too literally, Shiro knows better than to rush into his haven. Upon closer inspection, Shiro spots a lilac feather tucked away within Lotor’s clutches, one that must have fallen astray when he’d taken off earlier. Whether a single wandering feather holds any value in Lotor’s heart, Shiro can’t say—but if nothing else, it had given him all the proof he’d needed of Shiro’s departure long before witnessing his return with his own eyes.

“Where have you been?” Lotor asks after an eerie silence settles between them when it becomes evident Shiro’s not willing to explain himself first. It’s not that Shiro doesn’t want to—more than anything, he wishes he could banish the devastation that plagues Lotor’s expression and cement save their carefully established relationship before it crumbles beyond repair, but the junction where his train of thought evolves into coherent words and become one with his voice remains out of commission, and leaves Shiro a wordless mess.

“If you’re going to leave, the least you can do is afford me the courtesy of an explanation.” The animosity dripping from Lotor’s voice all but begs Shiro for a reaction, goading him to say something, anything, no matter how cruel his response might be.

The heartfelt explanation Shiro wishes he could give falls short when he detects an accusatory note in Lotor’s voice. “Every day you make a point to tell me that I’m not trapped here.” Shiro’s quick to remind him, while mentally berating himself at the same time. He has no reason to act this way, with his life on Earth at stake, Lotor has every right to be defensive, but he still finds himself on edge, like he's being pegged as the primary suspect in a case where he hasn't done anything—or at least, he hasn't committed the crime he's being accused of.

“You’re not,” Lotor agrees, reluctance lacing his voice. “But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

“That much is obvious,” Shiro deadpans before approaching Lotor, holding his arms out to him, as if he’s expecting to be embraced. “I’ve returned, aren’t you happy to see me?” he adds, the remark oozing with sarcasm.

He stops just a few inches short of being able to touch Lotor, whose eyes remained trained on him the entire time. The rage burning brightly in Lotor’s eyes subsides just a fraction as his gaze shifts down to Shiro’s arms and back up to him. Lotor wants nothing more than to take that small step forward and fall into his arms, Shiro can see that much, but something keeps him at bay.

“Not without incentive. I’m sure.” Lotor’s voice is cold, completely devoid of its previous anger, as if he's already made Shiro's decision for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shiro asks, even though he already knowing the answer. It wasn’t as if he’d planned to keep his encounter with Allura a secret, but he still finds himself unnerved by Lotor’s behavior. He expects a lot more from Lotor, for him to lash out and cast him away, to fight for the life he'd fought so hard to achieve on Earth, to do something, anything except what he's doing now, not that Shiro knows what to label this.

“You met someone while you were away,” Lotor notes, changing the subject; Shiro knows there’s no use in denying his claim, “another Angel.”

“What did they want?” Lotor asks before Shiro has the chance to answer.

“They know I’ve taken refuge with you,” Shiro admits, lowering his arms as his gaze shifts to the ground and away from Lotor. “But more importantly they know you’re here.”

“I see.” Lotor gives him a brief nod of understanding, but otherwise doesn’t say anything more as he turns away from Shiro, much to his chagrin.

The silence that settles between them is thick and unyielding to the point where if Shiro dares to inhale he fears he might choke. Even without Lotor’s piercing gaze watching his every move, Shiro feels the insufferable bite of a thousand blades puncturing his skin and digging deep into raw flesh, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, Lotor holds the key to his sanctuary, and Shiro remains barred until Lotor sees fit to let him in.

At long last, Lotor looks back to him, every trace of pain banished, and once again Shiro finds himself back to square one, unable to decipher what might be going on in Lotor’s mind. “And you’re expected to banish me back to the fiery pits of Hell, or perhaps even kill me, is that it?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Shiro affirms, willing himself to maintain eye contact with Lotor.

Silence falls between them as the defiance in Lotor’s bright eyes slowly begins to dissipate. “I’m not sure I have the will to fight you,” Lotor replies after a few moments and only then does Shiro detect the resignation flashing through his eyes.

The mere mention of Lotor giving up the life he’s worked so hard to establish turns his blood to ice. Shiro wants to scream, to lay out his entire argument in exquisite detail and explain point by point why Lotor has to fight, why he needs to stand his ground and stay. His innermost desires that reside within his heart scream out to Lotor and plead with him to reconsider, or if nothing else, to believe in him and know that this isn’t his choice.

“I never said I’d do it.” Not only are his words a fraction of the countless things Shiro wishes he could say, they’re the poorest sentiment he could possibly provide at such a crucial moment. The only thing such a claim succeeds in doing is making it look like he's trying to shift the blame and take some of the heat off himself.

“Why wouldn’t you?” The disbelief in Lotor’s voice doesn’t quite match the small glimmer of hope that flashes through his eyes. That one little spark, as fleeting as it is, intrigues Shiro more than it has any right to, and ignites a flame of its own within him, one that possesses the burning desire to protect and cherish, one that claims Lotor as his.

There’s no real sense of logic in his line of thought, it’s far more instinctual, a feeling that leaves a lasting impression and takes root in the deepest depths of his heart and blossoms into something inexplicable, yet it’s the same sensation that beckons Shiro to stay.

“He didn’t count on me falling in love.” Even Shiro knows how cliché that sounds, but that doesn't make the truth any less legitimate.

“You don’t mean that,” Lotor's reply comes too quickly for Shiro to believe him, in fact, he knows this is Lotor attempting to protect himself—not only from heartbreak, but from letting himself believe in someone he has every right to suspect might turn on him in the end.

“I know better than to lie to you.” That much is true, however, it’s not so much that Shiro thinks he couldn’t get away with it, but rather that he has no desire to lie—Lotor has never given him anything less than complete honesty, and now Shiro has every intention of returning his candor.

“I won’t do it.” Words aren’t nearly enough given the severity of their situation, but it’s all Shiro has—only time will demonstrate where his loyalties lie, and somewhere during his thought process Shiro realizes he rather likes the notion of having all the time in the world to prove himself to Lotor, if only because it implies they’ll have an eternity to spend with each other.

“Were you given a choice?” Lotor cuts through his wishful thinking and gets to the real heart of the matter, proving that even with all the evidence to the contrary, Lotor is the son of God, and illegitimate or not, he knows his father’s methods all too well.

Shiro shakes his head and doesn’t bother going into logistics. “I don’t belong to him anymore. I can make my own decisions.” It’s only by some miracle that he stops himself from proclaiming who he belongs to now, but he’s not sure Lotor would accept it.

“Is that so?” Lotor sounds as skeptical as ever, not that Shiro can blame him.

“I chose this,” Shiro reaffirms—he’s not foolish enough to think he stands any chance in convincing Lotor tonight, but he’s willing to count anything short of eviction as a victory.

“Did you?” Lotor inquires, sounding as if he knows the answer before Shiro has the chance to respond. “Or did you merely comply in order to fulfill some deranged notion about personal redemption?”

“Maybe at first,” Shiro confesses, resolute in his conviction to give Lotor the truth. “My ticket to redemption in His eyes has made itself known, however, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I still wanted that.”

Lotor doesn’t respond at first, his pensive gaze shifts to the floor, carefully considering Shiro's words.

“You are protecting me,” Lotor speaks slowly, clearly putting, a supreme amount of care into each word he chooses, A heartbreaking sense of caution and disbelief peppers his voice, making Shiro realize just how conflicted Lotor truly is.

“Poorly,” Shiro quickly adds, his voice riddled with dejection and bitterness. “It’s far from over.” Shiro doesn't need to tell Lotor how relentless his own father is.

“You needn't get involved,” is Lotor’s only reply before he turns away from Shiro and takes a step towards the door. His movements, as simple as they are, leave Shiro with the sinking feeling that he’s being dismissed. But he can’t let that happen. This isn’t a new experience, it’s a reality neither of them thought possible, an opportunity that shouldn’t exist, but it’s a chance Shiro needs to take.

“Wait.” Shiro follows, only to watch as Lotor comes to an abrupt halt. He won’t turn to look back, but Shiro’s desperate enough to take a victory wherever he can get it. “What are you talking about? I'm already involved.” He’s already said it once, but maybe this time he’ll get a proper reaction. “He knows where you are because I lead Him to you.”

Shiro expects whatever shred of goodwill Lotor still has for him to disappear right there and then. Intentional or not, he can’t deny this betrayal, nor can he ask for Lotor’s forgiveness.

But Shiro doesn’t see any of that. Instead of a heartless gaze that all but demands for him to take his leave, Shiro catches his first tender glimpse of the night—that one tiny speck of light flickers through Lotor's eyes and disappears so fast Shiro can't help but think he imagined it, but nevertheless he clings to his last trace of hope like it's the only thing he has left.

This time it's Lotor’s gaze that wanders off towards the ground, giving Shiro the impression he has something to be ashamed of. “I'm the one who brought you here,” Lotor reminds him, as if he blames himself for Shiro’s entanglement in his family matters.

“But I’m the one who stayed.” And gave them time to track you, is left unsaid.

“I never wanted you to leave.” Lotor falls quiet after that, the unmistakable glimmer of vulnerability glistening in Lotor’s eyes.

“Did you know the risk?” Shiro feels foolish for even asking, he can’t imagine Lotor being ignorant about anything.

“I assumed He already knew.” Lotor offers him a non-committal shrug that makes the entire issue seem a lot less dire than it really is. “There’s no such thing as hiding from Him. I thought my presence here simply didn’t matter to him.”

“And now that it does?”

“My father’s stance is irrelevant.” Spoken like a true Prince, Shiro can’t help but think. “My place is here.”

“What about yours?” Lotor inquires, finally asking the question Shiro’s been waiting for.

“It’s here, with you,” is his only reply.

Lotor continues to watch him for a long while, clearly trying to evaluate his options, and after what seems like an eternity, Lotor finally crosses the invisible barrier between them and reaches out for him, a gesture Shiro doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate. He’s so eager for Lotor’s acceptance that he almost falls into Lotor’s arms and lets himself be engulfed by his warm embrace. It’s not until he feels Lotor’s arms cross over each other and secure his hold around him that Shiro can finally relax, relief crashes into him like a tsunami, leaving him with nothing except his desire to stay like this forever.

“I am happy to see you,” Lotor says quietly, giving Shiro the answer he's been wishing for since the beginning of their conversation.

“I know.” Shiro smiles, his hands carefully sliding up Lotor’s back and allowing his fingers to tangle themselves in soft hair. “That’s why I came back.” The sentiment of because I know you want me is left unsaid but lingers in the air between them.

“That's rather arrogant for a Fallen Angel,” Lotor chides, however his voice is riddled with mirth. The sheer joy radiating from his eyes is nearly blinding, but Shiro can’t bring himself to look away. “I like it.”

“I learned from the best,” Shiro counters, kissing the devious smirk that's plastered all over Lotor's face.

“Always such a flatterer,” Lotor muses, the sly grin he wears only seems to grow as he reaches up to brush Shiro’s forelock to the side, his hand eventually trailing down leaving with a gentle caress to Shiro’s cheek.

“You like that too,” Shiro declares, leaning into Lotor's touch, his entire being aglow with confidence inspired by Lotor—he wouldn’t feel this good without him, he wouldn’t have the strength to carry on and listen to the advice he'd given only a few moments before.

“You're not wrong,” Lotor agrees before pulling away just enough to take Shiro by the hand and lead him inside, into his home where they both belong.

Despite everything he’s gone through, Shiro considers himself the luckiest creature in existence. He can’t decide whether Lotor’s driven by an unwavering sense of kindness or mercy (not that Shiro has any idea where Lotor could have learned either trait) but he supposes it doesn't matter.

“What are we going to do?” Shiro hates to derail their moment, but it’s a notion he won’t be able to let go of—he needs to ask now, rather than let his fears grow and fester into something he can’t control.

“You've done a marvelous job of answering that already,” Lotor replies, his being glows with a renewed sense of poise, its return leaves Shiro feeling more determined than ever. “We fight.”

Once they're both inside, the balcony door closes with a soft 'click’. Shiro can see Lotor reaching out to turn on a light, but rather than let him get that that far, his limbs seem to act without his permission, moving with such agility that he doesn’t realize he has Lotor pressed up against the wall until he’s staring him in the eyes. Lotor appears completely unfazed, the glint in his sparkling blue eyes makes it look like he expects this from Shiro, or at least takes a certain amount of amusement in Shiro’s actions as his arms wind themselves around Shiro’s neck, bringing him closer.

There must be a million and one things Shiro needs to say, but he decides the only way he can make himself clear is by sealing his lips to Lotor’s in a loving kiss, letting his lips speak on his behalf and giving Lotor his heart and soul.


	4. Chapter 4

“You're home early,” Shiro calls out, keeping his voice cool and conversational, or at least he’s trying to sound like nothing’s amiss. He’s hardly done anything and yet he feels his composure slipping with each hushed footstep coming closer as Lotor makes his way through the hallway leading to the parlor, his intentions of meeting him as clear as crystal.

Shiro needn’t lift a finger to garner Lotor's attention once he reaches him—with the way Lotor's jaw goes slack when his gaze falls upon his naked form, taking in every detail as if this is the first time, Shiro has Lotor right where he wants him.

“Am I?” Lotor replies after a moment as he throws a casual glance at a nearby clock, making it look like his arrival is purely happenstance, rather than something planned to the exact second.

“What's the occasion?” Shiro asks in the name of keeping the supposed element of surprise when they both know exactly what this is. Neither he nor Lotor has made mention of the date even once, but he’ll never forget it, and with the way Lotor looks at him, his eyes soft and full of adoration when he’s the first thing they see after walking through the door, Shiro is certain that Lotor will never forget what this night means either.

“Maybe I wanted to see you?” Lotor’s eyes carry a trace of innocence that almost looks real. In Lotor's defense, he knows it's not a complete lie. He's well beyond the point of second-guessing himself and Lotor's intentions, and if Lotor says he wants to see him, then he means it.

Shiro can’t begin to describe how refreshing it is to not only take Lotor’s words at face value and believe him, but to have this kind of genuine affection directed at him in the first place. It’s more than he ever could have dreamed of, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tease Lotor a bit first, just to keep up appearances.

“And you couldn't wait the extra hour?” Shiro tries his best to sound like he takes no amusement in Lotor’s antics, but his tone doesn’t quite match the small grin playing on his lips.

Lotor’s gaze shifts away from Shiro and moves down the entire length of his body, making him feel like the sexiest creature alive when Lotor takes his time in giving him the once-over. Before Lotor can approach him, Shiro pushes himself up and off his arms into a sitting position, his legs spread apart, with one dangling off the edge of the sofa while he keeps the other bent, using the leverage he gets from keeping his foot balanced on cushion underneath him to really put himself on display for Lotor and expose the toy he has nestled inside of him. There’s a hitch in his breathing when he catches the way Lotor’s eyes constrict when his eyes fall in between his legs, and subconsciously Shiro finds himself spreading his legs out even further as to give Lotor the best view possible.

“From the looks of it, you're glad I didn't.” Lotor's lips curl upwards in a coy smirk, and Shiro knows then and there what he's in for.

Shiro reaches back in between the couch cushions, his fingers curl around a small, cylinder-shaped object, taking it with him before peeling himself away from the sofa and trekking across the living room floor until he comes to a stop mere inches in front of Lotor. Reaching up with his free hand to caress Lotor’s cheek, he presses a chaste kiss to Lotor’s lips while he slips the remote to his toy into Lotor’s hand before pulling back, his smile giving Lotor the proper greeting he deserves.

Lotor’s gaze drifts away, down to the control Shiro’s just given him. “Is this what I think it is?” There’s no way Lotor doesn’t already know, but Shiro supposes he can forgive a moment of confusion.

“Find out for yourself,” Shiro replies with a coy smirk of his own, stepping back and away from Lotor until he’s at least five feet away, his gaze never once leaving Lotor’s as he lowers himself to his knees, sitting back on his calves and waiting for Lotor to make his move.

In lieu of a reply, Lotor’s gaze shifts back to the control Shiro’s given him, his thumb brushes over the plastic buttons, but doesn’t apply enough pressure to press down and start the fun, at least not for now. He muses the ‘torture’ of keeping him in wait might be one of Lotor’s favorite aspects of their time together, not that Shiro minds. He’s come to find patience often yields the best rewards.

“Oh, I am going to enjoy this,” Lotor lets out a hum of approval as he looks back to Shiro, amusement glittering in his eyes. “I’ve prepared a little something for you as well,” he adds after a moment, almost making his ‘gift’ seem like an afterthought especially now that he’s caught up in what Shiro’s already started.

“Yeah?” Shiro manages to keep his voice light, and not sound overly excited by the addition to their game Lotor has in store for him.

Lotor nods in affirmation as he steps further into the room, stopping in front of the set of glass doors that lead to the balcony overlooking the city. The soft glow of moonlight pouring into the room gives Lotor a certain radiance that Shiro can’t help but think of as ethereal in nature as he looks down upon him, his expression pensive like he’s in the midst of deciding what he wanted to do with Shiro first.

As he waits, Shiro can’t help but notice Lotor wearing his coat, specifically a long, black trench coat that Shiro knows is completely inappropriate for the desert heat that is especially harsh during this time of the year.

“Isn’t it a bit warm for that?” Shiro asks after a few moments when Lotor still hasn’t moved to remove it.

“Is it?” Lotor inquires like he has no idea what Shiro might be getting at as he tosses his hair behind his shoulders. “I hadn’t noticed.” The grin playing upon his lips doesn’t falter as his hands work to undo the belt of his trench coat, the straps pulling free with the mere flick of his wrists and the coat itself falling open soon after, leaving Shiro in complete shock and his mouth agape.

“I suppose you’re right,” Lotor purrs, letting the jacket fall from his shoulders and away from his body altogether, down to the floor where it’s promptly forgotten about for the rest of the night and giving Shiro the full gift he’d been promised.

Standing tall in a pair of jet-black stiletto heels in clad in nothing aside from a pair of lacy, translucent stockings that run up his long legs, Lotor looks as if he's just stepped out of his wildest wet dream and into the real world—and even now this feels too good to be real. The moonlight that pours in through the balcony door gives Lotor’s lilac skin celestial glow, one that serves as a stark contrast to the seductive aura coming from him. Shiro can hardly bear it—he’s caught between the desire to declare Lotor as his sole deity and praise the ground he walks on, and his more carnal urges which demand Shiro’s worship in an entirely different sense.

“Well?” Lotor’s intense gaze looks down on him, clearly expecting a response.

Shiro draws a complete blank, nothing he could say would come even remotely close to expressing how hot Lotor makes him feel right now. He struggles to recall a time he’s not found himself attracted to Lotor, and now that Lotor’s actually making an effort that goes well beyond his natural charm, Shiro’s mind ceases to function altogether. He’s not even sure what he wants first, whether he wants to dig his nails into the nylon that covers Lotor’s legs and tear the delicate fabric away, exposing Lotor’s toned thighs for a few brief seconds before he latches onto the flesh with his greedy lips and covers the flawless skin in dark blue love bits that contrast beautifully with lilac skin, or if he wants to skip ahead and go straight for Lotor’s cock. He can’t see it, but Shiro just knows that much like the front, those leggings leave Lotor’s backside exposed as well—what he wouldn’t give to touch and give that tight ass a firm squeeze while Lotor fucks his mouth, and perhaps go further if Lotor lets him—but he’s getting ahead of himself. Right now, he’s still under Lotor’s scrutiny and owes him a proper response.

“It’s way too hot in here,” Shiro manages his reply after a few moments of silence, licking his dry lips with a tongue that’s equally as parched.

“I don’t think we’re going to make things cooler any time soon,” Lotor chuckles as he reaches out to him, his fingers brushing against his cheek in a gentle caress, running along his jawline and up and over to the shell of his ear, eliciting the softest of hums to slip past his lips.

“I can live with that,” Shiro replies, leaning into Lotor’s touch without a second thought. No matter how often his mind wanders off and fantasizes over the depraved acts he and Lotor can do together, the little moments of tenderness, where Lotor spares him an affectionate glance or a soft smile mean everything to him. Those subtle gestures reaffirm what he already knows, that what he and Lotor share is real and unwavering, but he’ll never deny how good the reassurance feels.

“I thought so.” Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro notices Lotor’s other hand toying with the remote, taunting him with its mere presence. Only Lotor can rile him up without having to do anything, and while that means a world of endless teasing and continuous denials for him, Shiro can’t help but smile, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“How long have you been like this?” Lotor inquires, his gaze shifting back and forth between the control and him, clearly referring to the pre-treatment Shiro’s given himself.

“Not long.” Shiro figures it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes between prepping himself and Lotor’s arrival. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

“You were prepared nonetheless,” Lotor notes, toying with the remote control in his hand, but failing to press another button just yet.

“I had a feeling you might pull something like this.” Shiro’s referring to Lotor’s early return home. He’d prepared himself for this on a mere hunch, knowing full well that he could have been kept waiting only a few minutes, or a few hours, unintentionally prolonging his own torture. While he wasn’t opposed to the latter if given the choice, he’d always prefer Lotor’s presence, that goes without saying.

“Losing my air of mystery, am I?” Lotor muses, a hint of mock offense tinges his voice.

“You?” Shiro shakes his head. “Never.” It doesn’t matter how long they’re together, Shiro’s not sure he’ll ever have Lotor completely figured out, but then again that's all part of the fun.

“That’s sweet of you.” The tone Lotor uses is so deceptively gentle that it renders him off guard when Lotor’s finger presses down on one of the buttons on the control, bringing the vibrator inside of him to life and sending a shiver of raw pleasure up his spine on the first go.

“Ah,” Shiro lets out a soft gasp, shifting back and forth on his knees in a futile effort to alleviate some of the tension. “Wish I could say the same.” He manages a smirk despite the continuous vibrations hitting his prostate with each movement.

“It’s only going to get worse, I’m afraid,” Lotor snickers, bringing his hand up to run deft fingers through his short strands of hair. Shiro allows his eyes to fall shut for a moment as he relishes in Lotor’s touch. He especially loves it when Lotor hits him from both sides, pulling him apart in the most delicious ways imaginable at one end, while showering him with endless adoration on the other. The contrast between each simultaneous touch serves as his true undoing, one that he’d happily relive for all eternity.

“Some things never change,” he lets out with a sigh, willing himself to open his eyes and watch for Lotor’s next move. The pad of his thumb rolls over the button Shiro can only assume will turn his toy up to the next setting but doesn’t make another move for the time being.

“You like it as much as I do,” Lotor quips, without even a shred of faux-remorse in his tone, which only turns Shiro on even more. He can’t explain it, but the lack of any sort apology, fake or not, really gets him going. He just loves that the confidence in Lotor’s ministrations match the pride and elegance his Angel is known for.

“No one’s denying that,” Shiro nods in agreement. Lotor—the true devil he is—uses the millisecond his gaze shifts away to up the setting of the dildo, and this time Shiro can’t help the moan that escapes his lips, partially out of surprise, but mostly because it feels so damn good.

It’s not enough, however. While there’s not a doubt in Shiro’s mind that he could get off from the vibrator’s incessant teasing if Lotor wishes, only one part of his body is being put to good use—he’s capable of so much more, and he can’t help but think that if he doesn’t do something, he’ll have wasted a perfectly good opportunity in making Lotor feel the same sense of euphoria he’s getting.

He wants it, but he dares not make a move unless Lotor invites him first. It’s all part of their game, one with rules he’s keen on abiding by. It’s not the threat of consequence that keeps him in line, any ‘punishment’ Lotor might dole out would only edge him on and serve in the ultimate unraveling of his mind, body, and soul, and Shiro no longer denies the thrill he receives from being pulled apart piece by piece. As much as Shiro would relish any repercussion he earned from his insolence, the rewards Lotor gives him are far sweeter. Lotor knows what he wants, often before the desire even occurs to him, and provided he plays along, Lotor will see to it that every wish he might have is fulfilled in the best way imaginable.

Looking up at Lotor, Shiro tries to convey his needs through his pleading gaze, his lips itching to be to be used in a manner that’s Lotor’s exclusive privilege. He’s so close, Lotor’s strong essence invades his nostrils and possesses his senses, amplifying his raw, undeniable craving to the point where he can’t take it anymore. In that instant, Shiro’s steadfast will begins to crumble. Everything he’d worked so hard for falls short as his body gives out on him, sending him forward and closer to the one thing he wants more than anything else right now, but remains forbidden and unobtainable.

It’s only by sheer luck that he manages to regain enough composure to reach out and brace his hands against the floor, stopping mere centimeters shy of touching Lotor. Shiro’s not sure how he managed to catch himself, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on his feats. Instead, he pushes himself back into his earlier upright position, forcing himself to look back up and meet Lotor’s gaze. Those piercing blue eyes continue to stare right through him, dismissing his folly.

“What’s wrong, Shiro?” Lotor coos, his gaze riddled with mock-concern as he acknowledges Shiro’s pain. “Need something?” His hand comes back around, long fingers prompting his chin to look up at him while his thumb traces over Shiro's lips, proving he knows exactly what Shiro wants.

In a rare moment of mercy, Lotor lets his actions speak for themselves, instead of forcing Shiro to speak and tell him word-for-word what he wants. Reaching behind Shiro’s head, Lotor’s fingers weave themselves into his hair as the palm of his hand rests against his scalp and pushes him forward, closer to Lotor’s cock, which to Shiro’s personal enjoyment, is already twitching with the beginnings of arousal—Shiro has every intention of full advantage and showing Lotor how good it feels to be undone.

“Take it, darling, it’s all yours.” Lotor confirms his desires when Shiro gives him one last questioning look, his voice soft, yet Shiro can hear the need in Lotor’s tone, and he knows he wants this just as much as he does.

That’s all Shiro needs to hear. Parting his lips, Shiro leans forward and takes the tip of Lotor’s dick into his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against the head and getting a taste of Lotor’s essence in its most natural form. His own cock twitches as he hollows his cheeks and pushes himself forward, taking in more of Lotor’s length inch by inch. This time, his enthusiasm overrides his steadfast control as Shiro goes a bit too far a bit too quickly, setting off his gag reflexes when Lotor’s cock reaches his throat. He’s free to pull back at any time, but Shiro refuses to give up, and wills himself to stay put as he sputters around Lotor for a moment before remembering to breathe through his nose and calm himself.

“Careful,” Lotor chides, his voice low and full of lust as the pad of his thumb trails along Shiro’s jawline, his long fingers extend lower to massage his neck, coaxing Shiro to relax his throat and take more of Lotor’s cock until the tip of his nose meets soft white curls of pubic hair, where he really gets to work in sucking Lotor off to the best of his abilities. Overwhelmed by Lotor’s strong, intoxicating scent, the memories of the thorough treatment Lotor gave him when their roles had been reversed come rushing to the forefront of his mind, and Shiro wastes no time in reenacting those ministrations in exquisite detail, his tongue lapping along the underside of Lotor’s steadily growing arousal before curling his tongue around the girth as much as he can, making sure Lotor feels every lick to the fullest extent.

Mm,” Lotor lets out a low hum of approval, “you’re doing so well, taking my cock so nicely.” To the untrained ear, Lotor sounds as poised as ever, but Shiro can tell the difference—he hears the subtle hints of lust tinging the edge of his voice, and his desire only encourages Shiro, inspiring him to suck and with renewed vigor each time he pushes back to take Lotor’s erection down his throat after using a brief reprieve to pull back and let his tongue do the work in lapping at the throbbing vein that seems to beat faster with each passing second.

Shiro responds in the only way he knows how, by letting a low, guttural moan full of desperation go from the bottom of his throat and travel up through Lotor’s length, earning himself a hiss through pursed lips as Lotor’s gentle hand takes purchase in his hair and remain shy of inflicting pain, much to Shiro’s dismay. He senses Lotor holding back on him, keeping himself in check while what little control Shiro still has hangs in the balance, ready to fall at any given moment.

“So perfect.” This time the urgency in Lotor’s voice is unmistakable. Even if he’s only managed to make Lotor lose a fraction of his restraint, Shiro still claims the hitch in Lotor’s breathing as his own personal victory, a triumph cut short with the subsequent jolt he gets from the vibrator being turned up to the next setting, electrifying every nerve in his body and edging him even closer to the brink of insanity.

Without exception, Lotor’s retaliation outshines every achievement he earns with Lotor—no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. It creates a challenge for him, one Shiro knows he’ll be chasing after for the rest of his days. Perhaps one day he’ll get the best of Lotor and render him little more than an incoherent mess of insatiable desire, but the second that happens Lotor will come back, redefine his understanding of pleasure and establish an entirely new game that will destroy him in a way only Lotor’s capable of. Shiro keeps pushing, he wants to reach that next level, to transcend beyond their current state and take Lotor to new heights unbeknownst to them both.

The grip Lotor has on his hair softens, his fingers card through the soft tufts in a touch that’s as soft as ever, but now Shiro can feel the strain behind each caress, Lotor’s slipping little by little, and it’s all because of him.

“I think it’s time we treat you to something a little different.”

Shiro’s so involved with Lotor’s cock, he hardly registers Lotor’s sweet suggestion and is left wholly prepared when a strange, yet not unpleasurable sort of pressure pushes down on his erection in a tentative fashion. His refusal to let up on the treatment he gives Lotor’s dick makes it impossible to for him to look down, but Shiro doesn’t need to. Lotor’s so close, he can feel him shift his weight back and forth between the ball of his foot and his heal as he continues to push the boundary, clearly figuring out how far Shiro’s willing to let him go. Lotor needn’t hold back, but Shiro won’t ever ask him to stop again; Lotor’s hesitancy serves as one of the aspects that re-establish where they stand, and Shiro clings to those small, yet meaningful reassurances whenever he can.

Lotor gives Shiro everything he’s ever dreamed of in one form or another, and Shiro’s unafraid to give back and let Lotor have the power he deserves. His conviction urges him on, allowing him to look up at Lotor through eyes clouded over with lust as he lets out another moan around Lotor’s cock, telling Lotor to do as he pleases.

And that he does. The pressure against his crotch intensifies, crushing his erection against his pelvis, eliciting the softest of whimpers from his lips as Lotor continues to push. He lets up after a few seconds, giving Shiro a short reprieve while never removing his foot completely, making the contact akin to a soothing caress that doubles as a perpetual reminder of what will come with a simple transfer of Lotor’s weight.

Moments like these remind Shiro that somehow, Lotor knows his body better than he does—just like with everything else Lotor’s given him, the initial discomfort begins to ebb away after Lotor maintains the pressure against him for longer than a moment or two, and that searing anguish devolves into an entirely new sense of gratification, the kind Lotor’s keen on delivering each and every time.

“Show me how much you enjoy this, Shiro.” The hunger in Lotor’s voice does nothing to quell or diminish his demands, and Shiro is quick to obey, pushing back and grinding against Lotor’s foot at an erratic, desperate pace, squeezing even tighter while giving himself the friction he yearns for. Soft, yet desperate moans slip past his lips as Shiro continues to blow Lotor with everything he has, eliciting a blissful cry from Lotor that's just barely loud enough for Shiro to hear. That one little sound, as reserved as it is, renews his determination and pushes him to go harder—even if he only gets a fraction of the sort of response Lotor earns from him, it'll be more than worth the effort.

Lost in a haze of lust, Shiro is unable to process what’s happening until he feels the leather bonds secure themselves around his wrists, binding his hands together behind his back.

“That’s enough,” Lotor’s shaky voice cuts through the air as the fingers in Shiro’s hair curl into a vice grip, finally giving Shiro the tension he’s been waiting for. Using his hold, Lotor prompts him to relinquish his cock and guide him to stand up.

“So beautiful,” Lotor muses, running a gentle hand over Shiro's cheek before leaving in to lick away a droplet of precum from the corner of his mouth.

In spite of Lotor's tender caress, Shiro still finds himself in a state of unease—he knows Lotor doesn’t have a single malevolent objective in store for him—it’s a simple reflex that comes with having his hands bound.

“Don’t be alarmed.” Lotor’s soft purr eases his anxiety more than it has any right to, allowing him to relax in Lotor's touch. “I’m only making sure you’ll behave yourself for this, that’s all,” he explains while pushing against Shiro, guiding him back towards the sofa with the utmost care—until his calves make contact with the furniture, where Lotor lets him fall gracelessly, allowing the vibrator to deliver a particularly harsh jab to his prostate when his ass hits the cushions.

“You really are the devil.” The glare Shiro tries to give Lotor falls short of anything malicious. If Lotor's plans include Shiro keeping his hands to himself, then Lotor has made the right call—not that Shiro needs to admit it.

“Yours, perhaps,” Lotor agrees. The vibrator comes to a stop with a press of a button, and all Shiro can do is watch as Lotor crawls toward him slowly and sensually, his eyes trained on him like a starved wildcat cornering its prey.

Shiro nearly forgets how to breathe when Lotor gets close enough to invade his personal space. His gaze remains transfixed on Lotor, unable to break away even as Lotor reaches down in between his legs and without any preamble, pushes two nimble fingers into him, pressing against the dildo firmly wedged inside him. Shiro’s voice comes out in the form of a strangled moan when Lotor’s touch delivers an exceptionally hard hit to his prostate and continues to dig in further, making Shiro tremble uncontrollably until suddenly it’s over as quickly as it began. Without any semblance of warning, Lotor pulls the toy out and away from Shiro, leaving him empty and far from satisfied.

“I will be disappointed if you cum without me,” Lotor purrs, letting the toy fall to the floor with a dull 'thud’ before he closes the distance between them, placing a gentle hand against his cheek and kissing Shiro long and hard.

“I wouldn't do that to you,” Shiro insists after the kiss is broken, feeling Lotor's lips curl upwards in a grin against his own.

“Call it insurance then,” Lotor replies with a caress to Shiro's cheek, finally pulling away to begin what Shiro can only assume is the next phase of his plan.

With his ability to think restored, Shiro contemplates labeling Lotor's gesture as something akin to mercy, but he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. An ominous glint flickers in Lotor's eyes as he leans back and relaxes against the armrest, spreading his legs apart, with one dangling off the edge while Lotor throws the other over the back of the sofa, exposing himself to Shiro’s impassioned gaze and giving Shiro a view that nearly makes him forget his own name.

Shiro knows what's coming next. Everything Lotor's done and prepared him for has led to this exact moment, yes Shiro still finds himself in awe as his eyes follow every move Lotor's deft fingers make in traveling down his chest, brushing against the tender nubs Shiro had the pleasure of teasing only moments before and descending past his torso and to his lower regions. The pointed look in Lotor's eyes makes the intentional neglect of his erection all too obvious as those long digits slip between the cleft of his ass and come dangerously close to inserting themselves through the ringed muscle of his entrance.

“Wait,” Shiro calls out, stopping Lotor before he has the chance to push his fingers inside, earning himself a perplexed look from Lotor, but he listens nonetheless.

It's not easy, but Shiro manages to extract the bottle of lubricant he’d hidden between the couch cushions, before twisting his upper half around and attempting to toss the small tube towards Lotor's direction with his bound hands. The lube ends up rolling across the cushion, right into Lotor's outstretched hand.

“My, my,” The smile that graces Lotor’s lips is downright wicked. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“I do my best,” Shiro replies with a mischievous grin of his own.

The edges of Lotor’s smirk soften into a smile, holding nothing but pure affection for him as he lets his actions speak for themselves in the way he ceases his teasing and gives Shiro the show he wants—all it takes is a pop of the cap and a quick coat of lube over deft fingers before Lotor's resuming his prior actions, and this time Shiro doesn't have a reason to stop Lotor from fingering himself for his viewing pleasure.

Lotor doesn't give himself half the careful, tender treatment he insists on giving Shiro (whether it's for his benefit or not Shiro hasn't figured out yet) but the lack of anything even remotely resembling pain on Lotor's face keeps him satisfied as he allows himself to indulge in the display Lotor has decided to treat him to. Even without the thorough approach Shiro receives, Lotor works himself open with precision, beginning with two fingers and eventually adding a third when Shiro catches a certain glint in Lotor's eyes, one that makes his desire all too evident as his gaze remains focused on Shiro's erection.

“What’s on your mind?” Lotor asks while he continues to fuck himself on his fingers, making Shiro envious over the conversational tone he holds, as if he’s totally unfazed by his own ministrations—much to Shiro’s dismay.

Shiro’s reply comes in the form of a glare—he can’t help but feel he’s being robbed of the chance to make Lotor come undone under his touch and show him what he’s capable of. He hates to admit it, but Lotor had been correct in limiting Shiro’s use of his hands—he would have long since broken their unspoken rule if his freedoms had remained intact. His gaze shifts between a scowl and shamelessly ogling his every move, both of which turn Shiro’s mind into an open book and provide an answer without Shiro needing to say a word. When Lotor doesn’t force an explanation out of him, Shiro gathers that Lotor has extracted the response he wants to hear.

“Would you like to touch?” At last Lotor asks the question he’s been waiting for.

“A little more than that,” Shiro confesses without a trace of shame in his voice, willing himself to keep what little self-control he still has and not throw himself on Lotor's cock and ride him into oblivion.

“Then come here,” Lotor purrs, removing his fingers from inside and extending his arm out to Shiro with his palm up, curling those same two fingers back, beckoning Shiro closer.

That’s all the permission Shiro needs. As Shiro repositions himself on his knees and inches closer, the thought to ask Lotor to free him of his bonds doesn't cross his mind. He's consumed by his appetite for Lotor, and if he can return even a fraction of the passion Lotor lavishes upon him, then he'll count himself victorious, no hands required.

When he gets close enough, Shiro darts out his tongue out and presses a tentative lick against Lotor’s opening, finding his bearings and figure out what he's doing. Shiro barely makes contact before he has Lotor quivering above him, his body already begging for more. In a stroke of goodwill, Shiro decides to repay the generosity Lotor had previously shown him and give him what he needs without insisting Lotor voice his desires beforehand (his own version of taunting could always come later). For now, Shiro satisfies the craving he's been nursing for far too long by picking up where Lotor left off; his tongue trails around the muscle of Lotor's entrance before dipping inside, licking each new patch of smooth muscle he makes contact with, reveling in the supreme warmth radiating off Lotor. Shiro had spent every second of the time Lotor used to touch himself mentally preparing for this moment, so he’s not at all surprised when Lotor clamps down around his tongue in a desperate attempt to keep something inside, but he knows exactly how to handle it. Pushing his tongue further, Shiro coaxes Lotor to loosen up a bit and allow him to move, rolling his tongue against the grooves of Lotor's inner walls, evoking a guttural moan akin to a growl from the bottom of Lotor's throat.

That sound, so pure and full of unbridled lust, is exactly what Shiro's been trying to get out of him the entire time, and now that he has, he's more encouraged than ever to earn more of the same—just one taste and already he’s addicted to the sweet elixir of Lotor’s blissed-out voice. It turns him on more than anything else, even the dildo steadily driving him closer to the edge with each hit to his prostate pales in comparison to the damage he incurs with each breathy syllable that tumbles from Lotor's sweet lips.

“I need you, Shiro.” The raw need in Lotor's voice serves as his only warning before a powerful set of hands take hold of his shoulders and push him away until he finds himself flat on his back on the sofa with Lotor looming over him, straddling his hips and positioning himself over Shiro's aching erection—all Lotor needs to do is push down and he'll have Shiro sheathed deep inside, but he reaches out before Lotor can make it happen, wrapping a shaky hand around his wrist and forcing Lotor to meet his gaze.

“You sure about this?” Shiro inquiry comes out in a low, breathy moan—he can hardly comprehend what he’s asking, but he knows it’s important. He needs an answer before they go any further.

“Something wrong?” Lotor blinks, clearly uncertain of why Shiro's stopping him now.

“No, it’s just,” Shiro trails off, not knowing exactly how to explain himself.

“Hey,” Lotor whispers, leaning in to cover his cheek in butterfly kisses. “I want this too,” Lotor assures him, bringing his lips to his and initiating the softest kiss of the night. Shiro hands himself over to the overwhelming warmth Lotor provides, losing himself to the point where he doesn't realize he's been untied until his fingers are already tangled in Lotor's silken hair and allowing him to pull Lotor closer and deepen their kiss to his heart's content. Lotor doesn't seem to mind when Shiro becomes daring enough to take charge for himself, and given the way he responds to each kiss, mewling in a way that almost makes Shiro come from how good he sounds, he's relishing in Shiro's lead.

Now that he has his hands back, Shiro puts them to good use by feeling up each curve of Lotor’s back, feeling the powerful muscles contract and extend as his body continues to move against his in perfect harmony, and melting under the raw energy that burns underneath sweat-slick skin. He keeps touching and Lotor keeps kissing, neither lets up in their respective ministrations as Lotor repositions himself over his cock until Shiro feels Lotor's heat engulfing his needy erection at a pace that makes Shiro lose a little more of his rationale with each inch Lotor takes inside.

It's not until Lotor's fully seated on his dick that Shiro realizes he can breathe again. With oxygen rushing into his lungs and his mind clearing just enough to let him process Lotor’s fierce gaze staring right through him, making him feel like he’s the only one Lotor can see—he envisions himself a total wreck, with tufts of hair sticking out every which way, his overstimulated body dripping with sweat, and the vibrator on overdrive stuck inside of him to top it all off, Shiro isn't sure how much more he can take.

“Try and keep up, yeah?” The wicked grin plastered over Lotor’s face doesn’t quite match the strain in his voice, letting Shiro know he’s got it just as bad as he does. Lotor's teasing gives Shiro the push he needs, and with a renewed sense of vigor, he thrusts up, catching Lotor off guard and nearly knocking him over, if it hadn't been for Shiro's hands resting on his hips keeping him in place.

“Just making sure you don't fall behind,” Shiro quips back, lips curled upward into a cheeky grin that mirrors the one Lotor gives him.

His quick response ignites a certain spark in Lotor's eyes, one that goes straight to Shiro's core and ignites a flame so voracious it transforms into a full-fledged wildfire that consumes him entirely. There's no more holding back, digging his blunt nails into Lotor’s hips and thrusting up into Lotor as hard as he can, Shiro starts a fast, almost brutal pace, of which Lotor appears all too happy to work with. He watches with pure fascination as Lotor rides his dick like a professional, pushing back against each thrust and moving with him in complete synchrony.

An underlying note of tenderness over-shines the cloud of passion and lust feeding the callous tempo they’ve set into motion—Shiro can feel it in the erratic way Lotor relinquishes his control over how hard Shiro drives into him in favor of leaning forward, bracing one arm against the armrest as he captures Shiro’s lips in a haphazard kiss. While it’s messier and lacks the sybaritic effort Lotor usually puts forth, the insatiable need behind each brush of Lotor’s lips against his makes his unspoken affection perfectly clear, allowing Shiro to learn the true meaning of avarice through the ravenous hunger that consumes him whole as he returns Lotor’s kiss with everything he has, making him feel as if he’ll never get enough of Lotor’s touch.

The sheer thrill of it all takes a sudden turn, overpowering Shiro and stripping away the last ounce of his nearly non-existent control. All it takes is one is a particularly well-delivered thrust from him and catching Lotor off guard at the right moment before Lotor's being thrown off him and onto the floor—but not without taking Shiro with him. Before he knows it, Shiro finds himself on his hands and knees in between Lotor’s legs, he hardly catches a glimpse of Lotor’s empty entrance dripping in his precum and lubricant before a low, wanton moan pulls his attention elsewhere.

“Keep going,” Lotor demands, his voice completely breathless as he paws at Shiro, drawing him closer until his fingers manage to wrap themselves around his arms and succeed in pulling him on top of him as his legs wrap themselves around Shiro’s hips, effectively trapping him in place.

Shiro doesn’t think twice as he regains his bearings, bracing himself against the floor by placing one hand on either side of Lotor’s head and slamming back into him, earning himself another gratified moan from Lotor, who by now, is far too gone to maintain any semblance of control, and completely unabashed in his desperation to get off on Shiro’s cock thrusting into him repeatedly.

Lotor tries to speak. Shiro can see it from the way he looks at him—his eyes sparkle with a certain glimmer that tells Shiro everything he needs to know. Supporting his weight on one arm, Shiro reaches down between Lotor and himself, intent on stroking Lotor to completion. The pad of his fingertip barely grazes a pert nipple before a trembling hand intercepts his path down Lotor’s chest, prompting Shiro to lace their fingers together as Lotor brings their clasped hands back up over his head. Giving Lotor’s hand a gentle squeeze, Shiro leans forward, crashing his lips into Lotor’s, inciting another passionate kiss. Feeling Lotor’s pulsating arousal against his stomach, Shiro knows how close Lotor really is, all he needs is a few more well-placed jabs to his sweet spot before Shiro will have him seeing stars.

“Yeah,” Shiro manages in between kisses, giving Lotor the answer he clearly needs to hear, not that Shiro doesn't need the same.

Their climaxes hit in perfect unison, Lotor clenches around his dick just right, forcing him to come while Lotor paints their stomachs white. The sound of their shared pleasure reverberates throughout the room, Shiro isn't sure who's louder, but the fact that it's even a question gives Shiro a well-deserved sense of triumph as he bathes in the afterglow of sweet bliss, rutting into Lotor until he has nothing left to give. He feels like the moment has already come and gone, however, Shiro isn’t deterred from stealing away the few inches of space existing between them and pressing his lips against Lotor’s in a kiss, one completely lacking in the desperation or haste that ruled them before, yet still holds its previous passion. Lotor’s body continues to tremble underneath him throughout the kiss, prompting Shiro to relinquish one of Lotor’s hands in favor of trailing gentle fingers over his chest, attempting to mollify the oversensitive skin beneath him. With fatigue closing in on him, supporting his weight on his other arm soon becomes too much to handle, forcing Shiro to cut his care short.

Cursing under his breath, Shiro uses what little energy he has left to brace himself against the floor and push off of Lotor, effectively flipping himself onto his back next to Lotor and gasping for air. The rapid rise and fall of his chest settles down to a more natural pace, allowing him to refocus on Lotor, even with his long hair disheveled from overexertion he's still the epitome of elegance and temptation—Shiro can’t bring himself to ponder the injustice of it all when he gets to lie there and watch as Lotor collects himself, using his limbs to prop himself up and curl around Shiro’s immobile form.

“Feeling okay?” An unmistakable hint of concern lies underneath Lotor’s teasing voice, and his worry is only compounded when Shiro feels a tender hand pressing against his thigh and rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“The floor is my home now,” Shiro grumbles, turning himself flat on his stomach, and proceeding to lie there like this is his natural state of being. Every aching muscle in his body protests the notion of moving anytime soon, but Shiro would do it a thousand times over.

“It’s not the comfiest of accommodations,” Lotor snickers, rolling over and laying on top of him, his weight pushing him further into the carpet, “but I can visit you,” he whispers directly into Shiro's ear, his warm breath teasing the shell right before pressing his lips against the patch of skin where Shiro's ear meets the back of his neck, and keeps going, trailing down his neck and across his shoulder blade while a curious hand wanders lower, blunt fingernails drift across his spine, caressing the small of his back with soft, sensual motions. His fingers are a little too deceptive in how long they linger before sliding down and running over the cleft of his ass. “You were so good in preparing yourself for me, and I wouldn't want to let your efforts go to waste.”

“Already?” Shiro makes a half-hearted attempt at chiding Lotor, but his voice makes his efforts sound less like an admonishment and more of an insincere protest that he hopes only encourages Lotor.

“Falling behind are you?” Lotor asks without letting up his assault of kisses against Shiro's back while his fingers get dangerously close to being more than playful.

Lotor's less than subtle taunting is more than enough to rekindle the flames of desire deep within the pit of his stomach and inspires him to push himself up on his forearms and half turn around, where he immediately makes contact with Lotor's saccharine lips, initiating a soft, yet heated kiss filled with desire for him and him alone.

“Not a chance,” Shiro is quick to respond, wrapping an arm around Lotor's neck and using his hold as leverage to turn himself around completely in Lotor's arms.

Lotor doesn't say anything, but Shiro doesn't need him to, the unspoken words between them ring loud and clear as Lotor leans in for another kiss, his hand ceases its earlier ministrations and glides up his back, initiating a tempo dramatically slower than before. Shiro finds himself easing into the new rhythm, delighted by the supreme tenderness Lotor showers him with while his fingers weave themselves into the satin locks of hair that cascade down Lotor’s back.

“We could take this to the balcony,” Lotor suggests in between kisses, his voice low yet airy, like he’s acting on a whim, rather than actual desire.

“Yeah,” Shiro replies in earnest, yet makes no effort to get up or move in the direction of the door. As much making love under the starry night sky intrigues him, parting with Lotor for even a few seconds (either by pushing Lotor away or letting him pull away first) isn’t something Shiro’s prepared to handle right now.

Perhaps he’s being excessive or melodramatic, but Shiro couldn’t care less. At long last, he’s found where he belongs, and he’s never going to let go.


End file.
